Book One: Prelude to a Dance
by Nightsfury
Summary: Sometimes, when you think you're ending one story, you're actually starting another. Even if you don't realize it at the time. A look into the first days between Fenris and Hawke. A bit AU in places.
1. Broken Chain

_AN: This entry is meant to be a novella exploring the very early days of the relationship between Fenris and Danal Hawke, a rogue. The story starts on the island of Seheron where Fenris made his run for freedom. It relates those events through the eyes of Danarius and a young magister tasked as his 'assistant.' Mostly, because I wanted to do something a bit different on point of view and to explore, just a little, the mindset of Tevinter mages. Enjoy!_

* * *

Danarius rubbed his eyes, raw and burning from squinting at tiny, crabbed script by the dim light of a swinging lantern. Fortunately, he had the stomach for sea travel, though his gorge still rose at the thought of abandoning his most precious possession on the island of Seheron. He hadn't been the only one forced to leave valuable property behind in the form of skilled slaves. Not enough food to feed them all for the journey home the captain had claimed, since their handful of ships had been forced to take the long way around the island to avoid tangling with the Qunari fleet.

He flipped the law book shut and leaned back in his chair. Bolted to the deck, he couldn't push it back from the table –also bolted down. One minor annoyance piled atop a larger. According to this tome on maritime law, even a Senator couldn't countermand a sea captain's orders once a ship left port. And the woman had actually threatened to throw him overboard if the magister didn't desist in 'pestering' her to retrieve his bodyguard. Besides, he could always get another one. 'Not like a good blade is hard to come by in the slave markets,' the woman had dared to say. Prudence dictated he abide by her orders since she was his only chance of getting back to Minrathous in one piece.

The air crackled around Danarius as a rare surge of temper loosened his controls. He hadn't achieved his current rank and status by giving in to fits of temper, but the Maker alone knew when he would be able to mount a retrieval mission to recover his property. It was going to take several months of bribery and skilled flattery just to settle the government officials who'd sanctioned and paid for this expedition to establish another base on the island. Of course, if they'd followed his initial advice and properly funded this mission, they wouldn't be in this mess now, would they? Danarius allowed himself a rare moment of self-indulgent temper, then shoved his irritations aside to focus on how he would retrieve his property.

A soft knock on his cabin door interrupted his thoughts.

"Enter."

The grizzled sailor tasked with serving Danarius and the newly appointed magister he'd been forced to share this tiny cabin with entered and set a small tray on the table. Danarius grimaced at the rations of boiled beans, weevil-ridden hard tack, and stale water. Three days of this already, Maker, he would be glad to get back to Minrathous.

The sailor sketched a bow, then turned to leave.

"How soon till we make port?" Danarius asked.

"Cap'n thinks maybe three or four days if the wind holds in our favor. If it don't, more like a week, m'lord." He inclined his head. "If you not be needin' anything further, I got watch comin' up in a bit."

Danarius waved him off. A few moments after he left, Laris, smelling of sea wind and elfroot potions sauntered in and plopped down in the only other chair. The young magister grinned and waved a ringed hand at the tray.

"Well, I see dinner's arrived." He twisted around and shoved the door closed with his foot, tucking a long strand of dark hair behind one ear.

"Slave rations," Danarius said as he flipped open his book, then pretended to read.

"Well, if you're not hungry..." Laris reached for both bowls.

He froze when Danarius' hand clamped down on his wrist.

"I was making an observation, not extending an invitation."

"Ah, forgiveness, Senator. You look a little pale. I thought, perhaps, the seas weren't agreeing with you."

The fool probably meant it. Laris had no ambitions beyond filling his belly and having a warm body in his bed. But the Arch-Mage, fond of her great-nephew, had sent him along on this military expedition to 'temper him to the realities of a magister's life', whatever _that_ meant. No mage who survived to achieve the rank of magister was ignorant of what that life entailed.

"My stomach is quite well, thank you." Danarius retrieved his bowl and picked up a spoon. "How are the rest of the wounded coming along?"

Laris paused in wolfing down his portion. "The rest of them should recover. The two soldiers who died today had lost a great deal of blood. Difficult to heal that." He frowned, gazing at his spoon. "If there were someway to replace lost blood we might have had a better chance of saving them."

Danarius glanced up from his book, his voice sharp. "Are you looking to be made tranquil?"

Laris started. "What? No, of course not. I'm not talking about blood magic. Just replacing blood that's been lost. If we could do that-"

"Put it from your mind, boy. The Chantry does not look favorably on dabbling with blood."

"But-" Laris' jaw snapped shut at the magister's glower. "You're probably right, Senator," he said softly, dropping his eyes back to his scanty meal.

There was probably some merit to the lad's observation, Danarius thought, moistening his hard tack with a bit of water. Laris might retreat from even the hint of challenge, but he was clever and talented. His skill with creation magic had kept their losses to a minimum.

Danarius glanced at the young magister, who seemed absorbed by this pitiful excuse for a meal. His warning had been for formality's sake. Laws against blood magic were cheerfully broken whenever it suited a magister's whim. Laris, however lacking in ambition he seemed to be, was too clever not to be aware of that. But he had never, according to a source Danarius trusted, used blood magic in any form. Just as well, perhaps, since a lazy, indolent nature made one more susceptible to demonic enticement.

The magister turned back to his meal, dismissing the boy from his concerns. There were more important matters to tend to, not least, the retrieval of a valuable piece of property; a third of his fortune had gone into creating the formidable weapon Fenris had become.

After what passed for dinner, Laris murmured something about turning in for the night. Danarius, feeling restless, left him settled in the top bunk, still in his robes, curled on his side with his back to the door.

Stars peppered the sky, and a brisk wind filled the sails. Behind the ship, light from the twin lanterns on the port and starboard sides of the two ships following reassured him their small fleet was still intact.

His hand curled around the railing, Danarius gazed out over the moonlit sea as he thought about who owed him favors, and who could be coerced, blackmailed, or bribed into giving him the aid he needed to return to Seheron after the fluster from this mission had settled. By the time the moon rode high in the night, he'd worked out a plan. Barring any unexpected twists he should be able to come back in about six months. He didn't like the notion of leaving Fenris on his own that long. He didn't doubt his little wolf would survive; after all, Fenris was well trained. But with no one around to keep the willful side of his nature in check, there was no telling what mischief he might get up to...or what foolish notions would take root in his skull. Still, it couldn't be helped. Danarius knew he would just have to ensure he brought his pet to heel as quickly as possible when he returned.

###

Laris choked down the bile rising up his throat for the third time. Andraste's tits, he could have gone three lifetimes without witnessing the slaughter that had just taken place. He sank onto his knees on the coarse sand, heedless of the gore staining the lower half of his fine silk robe. Power pulsed all around him, beckoning. He shoved it aside, sickened by the thought of using it. Beyond the blood, he sensed rage demons, searching for a point in the Veil weak enough for them to break through.

In the middle of the carnage, Fenris stood, sides heaving, while blood dripped off his sword and his hair. Beneath the gore, the lyrium lines twining over his skin pulsed blue and white in erratic patterns. Above him, scavenger birds wheeled, waiting for their feast. Danarius hovered only a few feet away, smiling, as if his 'pet' had just performed a clever trick to please its master.

The young magister's hands clenched his thighs as he stared at the Senator. _He's mad. He has to be...to order...this..._His gaze swept over the dead Fog Warriors littering the beach... _in a place where the Veil is so thin_.

"Ah, my little wolf, I'm pleased to see you've lost none of your skill while I was gone."

Laris started. _Is that what this was? A test!_

Fenris moss green eyes widened, brilliant in their intensity, then magic flared along the lyrium lines, burning bright as the sky on a hot summer day through the blood. The elf growled deep in his throat and his grip tightened on that massive broadsword.

Despite the heat, Laris shivered. _No wonder he's named after a wolf._

"Now, now, my pet, remember what Hadriana taught you about self-control. I'd hate to see those lessons...wasted."

Laris swallowed, reading the promise of punishment in the magister's tones if his 'pet' disobeyed.

Fenris' gaze shifted to the bodies strewn at his feet. The light died in his eyes and the lines of his body softened, his sword tip lowering to the ground. Danarius smiled, looking satisfied, one hand curled around his ebony staff. But where the magister had probably read obedience, Laris read despair...and something else, though at the moment he was still too shaken from the elf's demonstration of 'skill' to discern it.

"Come now, it's time to return home." The magister's smile deepened, taking on a possessive, hungry edge. "Time to become re-"

Fenris' head jerked up. "No."

Barely more than a whisper, that single word hung between them in challenge and defiance. And in the late afternoon sun Fenris' eyes blazed.

Danarius' smile vanished. "What did you say?"

Fenris didn't answer, just turned and bolted for the forest, a loping run that ate up distance with blinding speed. For a moment, the magister just stood there, staring at the place where Fenris had disappeared into the thick jungle forest. Then Danarius' face contorted in anger as his other hand slapped against his staff and he raised it above his head, a chant Laris didn't recognize spewing from his lips.

The Veil twisted, thinning to wispy shreds as a rage demon pulled by the magister's anger and the bright magic he gathered clawed at the edges of this world's reality.

"Demons!" Laris cried out, inwardly cursing Danarius as he brought his own staff to bear, then turned to face whatever came through the breach.

Danarius might be an arrogant prick, but he was also a highly disciplined one. In the space of a breath, he dropped his chant and turned to face the demon, his personal guards fanning out to either side of him.

"Get behind me, boy, and focus on keeping the guards alive," the magister said, his eyes never leaving the demon that had almost freed itself.

Laris didn't argue. He knew his own strengths. Besides, he'd seen rage demons hovering behind the one that was almost free of the Fade. With a cry of triumph, it wrenched through, skittering over the sand straight towards Danarius, its black claws reaching for his throat.

A few words from the magister, and Laris felt the chill of winter on his neck. The rage demon shattered, but five more boiled out of the breach behind it.

"Contain them," Danarius shouted at his guards, then pointed his staff at the breach.

Laris laid a repulsion sigil on the ground in front of them, then focused on the guards. He 'felt' the slice of claws down his thigh, and poured energy into the wound, repairing the severed artery. Ignoring scratches, bruises, and minor wounds he focused on healing ripped stomachs and gouged backs, though he could do nothing for the man whose head was ripped from his shoulders. Distracted by its kill, the demon never saw the guard coming from behind to take its head.

Laris dropped to his hands and knees, gasping, his skin prickling as Danarius' power swirled around them, keeping the demons off the young mage's back as the magister slowly repaired the breach his anger had helped create.

Pouring energy into six guards, enhancing their reflexes and recovery as well as healing them, Laris was only dimly aware of the battle raging around him. The battle cries of the guards, the shrieks of dying demons, and even Danarius chanting just above him - all skittered at the edge of hearing, as if the sounds came from far away.

The coppery smell of blood filled his nose as a demon tore another guard apart. Despite the energy he poured into them, he felt the other guards starting to weaken, their strikes slowing, their blows getting weaker.

_Six guards left and four demons. We won't survive this. _His eyes focused on the blood stained sand beneath his hand. _The demons...their drawing power from this. _Even Danarius was, though he was focused on closing the breach and blocking any more demons from slipping through the rent in the Veil.

Power lay all around him. _I can't use- _ Laris felt another guard die. He shoved the vow he'd made to himself aside_. Shit...I'm not going to die on this Maker forsaken island because of one man's pride._

He reached out and gathered up every scrap of power he could find. It poured into him, sleek and hot, carrying a whisper from something greater beyond the Veil, an offer heavy with the promise of power. All he had to do was let the owner of that voice inside his skin...just for a little while. Just long enough to taste the mortal world. Surely, as a fellow scholar, he could understand the spirit's curiosity about the world outside the Fade?

Laris shook his head, his jaw clenching. _Shove it up your ass, demon. _Then he focused on the guards, pouring new-found strength into heard a shout of triumph and the stench of demon ichor as one, then another died. The remaining guards quickly finished off the last two demons before collapsing on the sand.

The breach in the Veil was now a thin sliver of gray against the brilliant green of the jungle behind it. Danarius wavered on his feet, his arms starting to shake, but his chanting never faltered.

Laris dragged himself to his feet, then stumbled over to the remaining guards, two of them now prone on the gore-soaked beach. Fortunately, none of their injuries seemed fatal, but demon inflicted wounds had a greater chance of putrifying. After pouring the last of his stolen power into them, he collapsed on his backside, his head starting to throb. Dimly, he sensed demons pushing at what remained of the tear, trying to force it open. A final surge of power from Danarius, and it snapped shut. Then the magister folded to the sand, his eyes rolling up in his head.

"Master!" one of the less injured guards called out, then hurried over to him, gently turning the magister over onto his back.

Laris gazed at them, more than a little tempted to leave the man here to rot. He shook his head. Danarius' guards would slit his throat for even hinting at that.

"My lord, he needs your skills...now," the guard tending Danarius said to the young mage.

Laris suppressed a sigh and crawled over to them.

Under the baleful eye of the guard, he examined the magister. Danarius was fine. Nothing a little sleep wouldn't set right. In fact, Laris thought, while checking several of the magister's pulse points, it probably would do no harm if he spent most of the next few days sleeping. Laris could always claim he'd been concerned that the man had dangerously exhausted himself while fighting to close the rent and he just wanted to ensure a full recovery. Healer obligations, and all that. Besides, he'd always detested the notion of slavery. And if Fenris had found the strength to snatch at an opportunity for freedom...well, let him take it. _Blame it on my Rivaini grandparents, I guess._

"Get him to the ship. He needs rest...a lot of it, but he'll be fine."

The guard only nodded, then motioned to another to help him carry Danarius back to the ship.

Later, after he'd seen the magister settled in his bunk, Laris slipped out to the deck, a flask of fine Antivan brandy tucked into his pant's pocket. With his 'superior' sound asleep, he dressed to suit his own comfort and not for show.

Leaning on the railing near the stern, he gazed down into the blue-green water sliding past the hull. After the stench of death on the beach, the clean open smell of the sea was welcome.

The Captain had decided to weigh anchor the moment they'd boarded, claiming that after what had happened on the beach, the Fog Warriors would return in greater numbers and he'd been paid only to transport the magisters here, not face rebels in battle. Laris, privately agreeing with his assessment, had seen no reason to argue with the man.

None of Danarius' guards had escaped injury. Exhausted and bloody, they hadn't made even a token protest on their master's behalf when the Captain ordered his crew to set sail. They lay scattered around the deck at the moment, eating and drinking, not saying much, and keeping their voices low when they did exchange a few words with one another.

Laris took out his flask, and savored a sip of brandy, tempted to get roaring drunk, if nothing else to blur the memory of Fenris savaging the surprised Fog Warriors. A tiny part of him argued that they shouldn't have denied Danarius his 'property.' The magister would have let them be if they'd just handed Fenris over to him.

_Maybe. But he probably would have ordered their deaths anyway, just to prove Fenris was still 'his,' to the elf, if no one else. _ Laris took another sip of brandy. _Andraste's tits, that man is twisted, even for a magister. _

It was still early afternoon, but as a friend had once remarked, it was evening somewhere in Thedas. He took another sip, then re-capped the flask with a sigh. Better to keep a clear head, he was going to need all his wits when he finally had to let Danrius wake up. The man wasn't going to be happy they'd abandoned Seheron without his 'pet.'

_He really thought it was going to be that easy. That all he had to do was show up and Fenris would follow behind like a well-trained dog. How could he have been so blind?_

Laris shook his head. Even on the first trip over here, he'd seen the hints of defiance, bright brief flashes of anger in the elf's eyes whenever Danarius mentioned his apprentice, Hadriana. A lifetime of watching others to keep his own skin and mind intact had taught Laris how to read all the subtle cues the elf gave. Cues Fenris had been adept at hiding from his 'master.'

Laris took out the flask again and uncapped it. He raised it to the sun sinking low in the west. _Good luck, elf. At least one of us has a chance at freedom. _Then he turned and headed back to his cabin.


	2. Arrival

Fenris had long ago lost count of the number of hunters Danarius had sent after him. At first, out of a sense of black amusement, he'd kept track, toting up the number of kills and thinking of the resources his former master was wasting in trying to re-capture him. Now, while he pulled another hunter's heart out of his chest in a filthy back alley that led off Kirkwall's docks…well, such accounting seemed a bit pointless. But even after two years a sense of grim satisfaction remained.

After having his heart ripped out of his chest, the slave hunter dropped to the ground, his sightless eyes staring up at a full moon. Around him lay half-a-dozen bodies and pieces of bodies, one shorn in two, cut clean through the waist. They'd been trailing Fenris for the last two weeks, picking up his scent when he'd neared Kirkwall, then following him into the city. In the twisting streets between the warehouses the elf had been able to nibble at the edges of this party for the last week, picking them off one at a time using tactics he'd learned in the Seheron jungles till the odds for survival had tilted in his favor. The Fog Warriors had taught him well. And how had he repaid them? Fenris grimaced and turned away from the slaughter.

Only the sound of his ragged breathing and the slap of water against the stone pilings filled the night. Using one of the slave hunter's cloaks, he cleaned off his sword, then wiped the blood off his armor. Surprisingly little, considering the slaughter that had just taken place. Ghosting through the bodies from one kill to the next, he'd also ghosted through their blood.

The stink of spilled entrails and fresh blood mingled with that of fish-guts and decaying seaweed. When the guard patrol came by in another hour or so, they would find the bodies. They'd clean up the mess, and then make some kind of report, he supposed. They might wonder why pieces of Tevinter slave hunters littered their docks, but they wouldn't probe too deeply. Kirkwall, more than a lot of cities, ran on bribes and self-interest, 'grease' for the wheels of power which carried the same stench no matter where Fenris found himself.

He sidestepped the sticky pools of blood as he looted the few coins they carried before slipping into a narrow alley that led deeper into the city, and into the labyrinth of Lowtown. The soft-soled boots he'd picked up in his travels barely whispered against the smooth stone of the docks. Only slaves went barefoot, and he was no longer a slave.

Pausing at a litter-strewn alcove at the base of a set of narrow steps, Fenris retrieved his small pack and travel cloak he'd stashed under a pile of broken crates. Covering the lyrium brands kept people from staring at them, from paying more attention and marking him, as long as they weren't activated. Not that such a precaution had seemed much of an impediment to Danarius tracking him down. The magister was always a very close step behind. The elf was getting weary of always looking over his shoulder and finding Tevinter slave hunters breathing down his shadow.

"Time to face the tiger," he murmured as he slung the pack over his shoulder. But how to do that? Skilled as he was, he was still only one man; and one with little coin at the moment. He'd enough silver to keep hunger at bay for a few weeks, but nowhere near the coin he needed to buy information or hire a few swords. That demanded gold.

Turning a corner, he paused and eyed the small square in front of a disreputable looking tavern named the _Hanged Man. _Two drunks, arms around each others shoulders, stumbled out the front door, heading north. Across the square, on the opposite corner, a human woman lounged under a flickering torch, a low cut top and a slit skirt revealing a generous expanse of thigh advertised her business.

After the two drunken men stumbled up a flight of stairs and the woman turned her attention towards a guard patrolling by, Fenris slipped along the rough alley wall and into the tavern. His nose wrinkled. Well, the _Hanged Man_ certainly didn't lack for color, judging by the smell of spilled beer and the clientele, a mix of elves, dwarves, and humans. As good a place as any to disappear in and find some information, he decided, even for an elf with lyrium brands twining around his flesh from throat to heel.

He slid into a chair at a small square table in a corner, his cloak hood still pulled up.

"Hoy, Norah. 'Nother pitcher here," a lanky human called out to a woman clutching several dirty mugs in each hand as she hurried by him.

"Hold your knickers, Samuel, only got two hands here," she retorted as she headed for the bar. Several minutes passed before Norah seemed to realize there was a customer in the corner without a drink in front of him.

If Norah thought it odd that he kept his cloak hood pulled up in the warm tavern, she gave no sign. Just plopped his order down on the table and asked if he wanted anything else. Fenris shook his head, and she hurried away, leaving his purse a few coppers lighter. His tongue curled at the taste of the ale, but he swallowed the sour brew, then leaned back and studied the people around him while he nursed his drink.

He knew their type. The seamy underside of every town and city, the ones who lived off the scraps of those in power, often had ears and eyes in the right places. People desperate and hungry enough not to look too closely at the hand that held out a few coins.

A dwarf with a gleaming crossbow slung across his back sauntered by, a tall muscular human at his side. Dark blue tattoos of interlaced curving lines decorated both the human's cheeks, drawing attention to chestnut eyes that gleamed in the lamplight, and a full, generous mouth that curved easily into a smile. Neither man looked desperate enough for his purposes, Fenris thought, and dismissed the pair.

He glanced down at his hand. The lyrium lines that ran straight across his palm and up to the pad of each finger glowed soft blue as he willed it into phasing. Necessity had refined his skill to the point where he could shift a single finger, or pass his hand through a table…or a fat leather purse in the space of a breath. The light died as his hand closed into a fist. But even when magic was useful, it fouled everything it touched. That was its nature.

A trio of elves passed by his table, a woman in leather armor and a pair of long daggers strapped to her hips. The two men trailing her carried swords; one had a short bow and a quiver slung across his back.

"Usual table, Athenril?" one of the bar-maids asked. The elven woman nodded and the trio headed towards a square table against the far wall.

Norah scooped up his empty mug. "Care for 'nother?"

Of a mind to leave before Athenril arrived, Fenris decided to stay. "Yes, the same."

After Norah brought his drink, he leaned his chair back against the wall, sipping the ale while he studied the smuggler and her entourage as they shared a pitcher and a plate of fried potatoes drenched in melted cheese. He'd heard her name spoken on the docks, tough but fair. More important, she didn't deal in flesh or drugs. Though she ran a small operation, she had a lot of contacts. And she'd somehow managed to survive, and even turn a profit, if dock rumor was correct, in spite of the Coterie's increasing pressure to eliminate its competition.

He'd no reason to approach her just yet, either directly or through a liaison. But he had a name to connect with a face, and an opportunity to gain a sense of the person beyond rumor and hearsay. Now all he needed to know was when the next squad of hunters would be coming after him and what ruse they would try to use to lure him into a trap. Easy enough to know where they would find him, all he had to do was stay in Kirkwall.

###

Danal Hawke lounged back in the thickly padded chair on Varric's right. The dwarf might choose to live in a low-rent tavern, but he'd made sure the furniture in the rooms he rented was comfortable. One of the few concessions he made to his noble status, and one Danal approved of in full.

The human took a long, slow sip of one of the Hanged Man's more palatable ales, then sighed.

"Don't get me wrong, Varric. I appreciate the work you've sent my way, but at the rate I'm 'saving,' it's going to take me a year, probably longer, to get the fifty sovereigns for a share in your brother's expedition." He grimaced. "Some months, Uncle can't even scrape enough together to pay his rent." _Maker knows how he paid it before we came. Not that I mind paying for our share of food and fuel. That's only fair. But, Maker's balls, he likes to cut it close when wagering._

"You could go back to working for Athenril."

"And keep looking over my shoulder every five minutes for a guardsman? No thank you. Not even with Aveline on my side. Besides..." Danal waved his mug. "Athenril and I didn't part on the friendliest of terms. Words…were exchanged. She wasn't happy about my leaving."

"I can't imagine why, Hawke. A man who shows up when he's supposed to, and gets the job done right the first time with a minimum of mess? Not to mention you make lock-picking look as easy as a stroll down the quay. Sounds downright incompetent to me."

Danal laughed, then leaned further back in his chair. "Incompetent. That's a word I hear a lot these days. I thought with the Blight now being officially over and a lot of my countrymen returning home, things might improve a bit here."

Varric shrugged and poured another mug of ale for himself, then held out the pitcher to Danal. The human nodded and held up his cup.

"People here will always find a reason to hate outsiders. You didn't think they called this the 'Free Marches' because they liked the sound of the name, did you? Besides," Varric continued as he poured the last of the ale into Hawke's mug, "you and Sunshine seem better suited to working as free-lancers."

"Probably true." Danal held out his cup. "To free-agents."

The dwarf tapped his mug against the human's. "And the dwarves that find them work."

"Speaking of work…"

"Not much more than rumors and hearsay at the moment." Varric frowned into the empty clay pitcher. "You want another?"

"You buying?"

"Moocher."

"Cheapskate."

Varric laughed. "All right, this one's on me…again. But after we all come back from the Deep Roads as rich men, I expect you to pick up the tab for a while."

"If we just come back with our skins intact, I'll be happy to pick it up."

Chuckling, Varric headed for the door, the empty pitcher in one hand. Danal scrunched even further down in his seat. Maker, these chairs were comfortable.

He only half-listened while Varric placed his order with Norah. Maybe if he got drunk enough, the dwarf would let him sleep it off here rather then walk the dark streets of Lowtown back to that wretched hole Gamlen had called a 'nice place.'

That order seemed to be taking a long time. Ah, well, Varric was probably milking the opportunity to catch up on gossip. The man never bypassed an opportunity, and he did seem to have a gift for prying information out of people. Considering Bartrand had all the subtlety and charm of a wounded mabari, it was hard to credit the two dwarves were brothers. Which, of course, made Danal's thoughts stray back to Carver.

He closed his eyes. Even after almost two years, that loss still cut. Whoever had said time dulled all pain had never lost a brother. They'd scrapped like a pair of wild dogs, more often then not, neither one willing to let go when they locked onto one another. Still, Carver had always been there for him. And if anyone even looked wrong at his little brother, they'd have Danal Hawke to deal with, as well as a twin sister who could literally fry them on the spot.

"Damn, Hawke, only two ales and you're drifting off?"

Danal opened his eyes, and found the dwarf grinning at him, a foaming pitcher in one hand and a plate of fried cheese sticks with a spicy dipping sauce in the other. Varric noticed him eyeing the snack.

"Compliments of Norah. Said something about you looking underfed."

Slipping from his perch, Danal relieved Varric of the plate and set it on the oblong oak table.

"It's not my stomach she's interested in," he said, settling back in his chair. The dwarf resumed his former seat, then refilled both mugs.

"Oh? And just what 'part' has caught her attention?"

"Anyone ever tell you you're as nosy as an old fishwife?"

"All the time, and if you're trying to tell me to mind my own business…"

Danal laughed. "Yeah, lost cause, I know." He picked up a cheese stick and bit into it, heavily salted, but it went well with the ale. "Let's just say the few times I've been to the _Rose, _it hasn't been for female companionship."

Varric sipped his ale. "That's the nice thing about the _Rose, _something for every taste." He patted his crossbow on the table. "Isn't that right, sweetheart?" He glanced up at Hawke. "I could plant a tale or two in Norah's ear to let her down easy if she's interested in you."

"I…that's not…I mean…" Danal blew out a breath. "Oh, Maker's balls, alright. She's a nice girl. It's not her fault I'm not interested in what she has to offer."

"Good thing you have me for a friend," Varric said with a chuckle. "That would go over so well." He sipped his ale. "By the way, I just heard that half-a-dozen slave hunters showed up dead on the docks tonight." Varric spread the fingers of one hand and made a circular motion. "In pieces all over the docks, actually."

Danal grimaced. "I hate slavers."

"As if we didn't have enough of our own littering Kirkwall, it seems someone's been importing them from Tevinter."

"How do you know that?"

Varric jerked a thumb over his shoulder in the general direction of the common room of the tavern. "That's what the guardsman just off-duty told Norah. Tevinter bounty hunters. He recognized the armor, apparently."

. "What would they be doing in Kirkwall?"

"Hawke, do I really have to answer that?" Varric asked, grinning.

Danal laughed. "You know what I mean." Then the laughter leaked out of his face and he shifted in his seat. "Have I mentioned that I hate slavers?"

"Yes." Varric gazed thoughtfully into his cup. "It could be they were just passing through on their way to someplace else."

"And ran into some local thugs looking to make a hit for some 'easy' coin?" Danal shook his head. "You know what most of the gangs are like. They're decent enough in a street brawl against one another, but against trained men? I ran into a few bounty hunters when I worked for Athenril. Disciplined and skilled, for the most part, including the ones who worked for slavers…make that especially the ones who worked for slavers. They'd have left the thugs in pieces on the docks, not the other way around." The ghost of a grin returned. "Unless Tevinter hunters happen to be incompetent."

"Not from what I've heard."

"Maybe someone took exception to a little competition," Danal mused, then reached for another cheese stick

The dwarf took a long pull on his drink. "Other bounty hunters? Must be quite a purse someone is offering."

"Too bad it won't pay up for bringing in the hunters." Danal dipped the cheese into the spicy sauce, licking a drop off his fingers before popping the snack in his mouth.

Varric grinned. "There'll be other jobs. There's plenty of work around. It just hasn't found its way to my ears yet."

Danal laughed and reached for the pitcher. After pouring for them both, he leaned back.

"Have I ever told you the story of how Kirkwall was founded?" Varric asked. Danal shook his head. "No? Well, then, it all started with the Tevinter Imperium."


	3. Rumors and Glimpses

Fenris jerked awake, the dream-memory of searing pain that wound around his left calf following him into the waking world. His nails dug into his palms and he forced himself to breathe slowly, each breath measured. In the dusty dimness of an abandoned shack in Lowtown near dockside pale morning sun leaked in from under the eaves and spread across a badly patched ceiling as he willed pain away.

When the agony faded from flesh, though not from memory, he lay back and stared at the cracked ceiling. He remembered nothing from the time before these cursed markings had been carved into his skin. Not his name. Not his age. Not where he'd been born. Not if he had a brother or a sister. Nothing. But he remembered the pain. Every precise and burning cut made by a narrow-bladed dagger with a silver hilt wrought as twining serpents with blood-red rubies set in for the eyes. Six days Danarius had carved his flesh. One limb per day, then his chest, and finally, his back. Six days his flesh had burned while the magister chanted his vile spells and poured specially prepared lyrium potions into the bloody cuts, sealing in power. Sealing away everything Fenris once had been.

With a curse, he rolled to his feet. No answers hid in the dusty shadows.

It took only a few moments to roll up his blanket and stash it in his pack with his gauntlets, and then pull on his cuirass. He tucked his purse, now two dozen sovereigns heavier thanks to several trips through the Hightown markets these past few weeks, inside his armor. Ghost fingers had gathered the gold from fine leather purses. In the busy market, distracted by the call of the vendors, the nobles never noticed a silent elf gliding by them. One trick every slave learned quickly and early was the art of being as unobtrusive as possible in a master's presence. Avoiding attention kept you alive. Drawing it courted death. The irony that he had decided to reverse that hard-learned lesson wasn't lost on him.

He checked the street through a crack in the door. Mostly dockworkers on their way home from night shift or on their way for the day one. When the stream of people thinned out to an occasional straggler, Fenris slipped out of the shack, then headed north where the fishing boats were berthed.

Even this early in the morning, dockside vendors sold grilled fish. Two skewers and a stale biscuit only cost a few bits. The vendor kept glancing at the lyrium lines that swirled over the backs of his hands, but wisely asked no questions.

In a narrow alley between two warehouses, Fenris washed his breakfast down with water he'd drawn from a public well, and considered his options. There weren't many. Mostly waiting and watching.

He brushed stray crumbs off his cuirass, slung his leather water bottle over his shoulder, and glided out of the alley. He turned his back on the weeping giants and made his way through the warehouse district adjacent to the docks. There was a kind of poetic irony in making his stand in a city founded on and for slavery, he supposed.

He started at the sound of a harsh voice yelling in Arcanum. Pivoting, his sword already partly drawn, he saw only a ship captain berating a pair of dockworkers struggling with a plain, heavy chest. Fenris eased his sword back into its sheath, and glided away in the direction of the Hanged Man. No matter the time of day or night, the place seemed the best source of gossip and rumor in Kirkwall. And with luck, he might pick up some shreds of information about when the next band of Tevinter slave hunters would arrive.

A guard on patrol passed Fenris, then like every other in the last few weeks, she stared a moment at the lyrium markings on his throat that curved up his chin before moving on. Well, he was certainly being noticed…by many, judging by the darting, sideways glances tossed his way as he strode down the street. Good. Let them come. He was ready.

###

"You sold my children into servitude, and now you want me to pay rent?" Leandra's indignant voice sounded through the cracked bedroom door.

Hawke winced, rolled onto his stomach on the narrow top bunk, and pulled his pillow over his head.

"It wasn't that bad, Mother," he muttered into the dingy sheets. Slipping the washer woman around the corner a silver or two on top of the six bits she charged for a basket helped ensure the bed linens, decent quality despite their dismal color, weren't 'lost.'

"Well, maybe something towards food," Gamlen said. Danal could just see him shifting his feet, looking down at his scuffed boots, while his hands twisted around one another.

_Makers balls, uncle, did you gamble the rent money away…again? And it's not like I don't contribute, _he thought as he dragged the pillow off, then sat up and swung over the side of the bunk, landing lightly.

Life with Uncle Gamlen had a certain…stimulating quality to it. Mostly because he and mother went after each other at every opportunity, it seemed. When they weren't rehashing the arguments over the wasted fortune and the will, they dredged up things that had happened when they were children. It didn't help that their sniping reminded Danal too much of how he and Carver used to go at it. No one could dig a dagger under your skin like family. No one else knew where the really sensitive spots were.

He sighed and pulled on his pants and shirt. As their voices moved away from the door, their words became muffled. Then Mother's voice rang out.

"They should be nobility."

"I'm a bloody farmer's son," Danal muttered, jerking on his boots after retrieving his socks. _I really need to get out of here before they find a way to drag me into this argument. I hope Bethany is away from this._ Of all of them, she was closest to Mother, and his sister really hated being put in the middle. So did Danal. But where he usually managed to deflect their attention with sarcasm, Bethany tried to play peacemaker, which only made things worse.

Cracking the door open, he peered out. Mother hovered near the fireplace, while Uncle steamed on the opposite side of the room. Bethany was nowhere to be seen. Well, he wasn't going to be able to sneak out, but the odds seemed to be in his favor for avoiding being dragged into their arguments.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the door and sauntered out, slipping past mother's back, his eyes focused on the door. He'd almost made it when her voice snagged him back.

"Where are you going, dear?"

He pivoted, his fingers curled around the door handle. "Just out for a bit. Thought I might try to look up some work."

"Hang out in that bloody tavern, you mean," Gamlen muttered.

_Like I've never seen you there, Uncle. _"Varric said he might have some information on jobs."

Leandra folded her arms, frowning. "Not more bandits, I hope. I do worry about you two."

"Maybe we'll be lucky, and it will just be smuggling caviar." _Oh, Maker's balls, I shouldn't have said that. Now she'll bring up working for Athenril again._ But she didn't, just looked away. For a moment, from the way the light seeping in from the windows near the ceiling fell across her face, she looked…old. Tired. These past years had been hard on her, losing Carver, then coming back as a refugee to a place that had once been her home.

"I'll be fine, Mother," Danal said gently. She turned, and her head lifted a little higher, some of the gleam he always associated with her returning to her eyes. He motioned towards the door. "Do you know where Bethany went?"

"To the market. She needed some thread, and to get her scissors sharpened."

Danal glanced at his uncle, scowling at his shoes. "I'll…see about something for dinner on my way home."

Gamlen's scowl only deepened. _Don't say it, Uncle. Please, don't say it._ But his uncle just shook his head and muttered, too low for Danal to make out the words. Not that he needed to hear them. They'd had more than one row about his 'wasting money on a fool's dream of finding riches in the Deep Roads.' As if gambling was a reliable way of bringing in coin. Mother carefully avoided any mention of the expedition.

Leaving awkward silence behind him, Danal slipped out the door, closing it gently. Maker, this was getting old. He tugged at his shirt, then headed for the Hanged Man.

Varric was out Norah informed him when he stepped inside. No, she didn't know when the dwarf would be returning.

Danal decided to wander down to the nearby market and see if he could find Bethany. He didn't. Maybe she had wandered somewhere else, or returned home. He lounged against a wall, watching as people poked through that Antivan merchant's goods. Maybe he should go dockside. See what the fishmongers were selling. This time of day, the best of the catch would be mostly gone, but he should be able to snag some good deals from sellers who didn't want fish rotting in their stalls.

He found some sea-bass for a good price, a bit mangled from being ripped out of a net, but fresh and plump. Danal paid the fishmonger the extra two bits to have them gutted and scaled, then he dropped them off at home, together with some day-old bread, and green seaweed. 'Poor-man's salad' they called it in Lowtown. But dressed up with a bit of olive oil and red vinegar, a sprinkle of sesame seeds, he'd become quite fond of it. Since Bethany still hadn't come home, he decided to wander over to the Hanged Man. Maybe Varric had returned by now.

"Hawke, over here," the dwarf called out from a corner table, a foaming pitcher in front of him. Anders lounged in the chair on the left, eyeing a plate of fried summer squash and mushrooms.

Danal pulled out the chair on Varric's right, turned it around, then straddled it. He waved a hand at the pitcher, grinning at Anders. "Getting an early start?"

"Late start, more like. Was up all night with a woman in labor." He reached for his mug, smudged circles under his eyes. "Breech birth. The mother's all right, but the baby…" His hand tightened on his mug. "Didn't make it. Strangled cord."

"Oh…I'm…sorry." _Maker's great freezing balls, that was so helpful, Hawke. _

Anders grimaced, then sucked down the rest of his ale in one long pull. "I'd say you get used to things like that in Darktown, but you don't. At least…I don't." He stared into his mug. "I don't know, maybe it's better than dying later of starvation, or cholera, or dysentery, or…" He sighed and leaned back. "If they put half or even a quarter of the effort into keeping the well's down there from getting contaminated that they put into hunting apostates…" He shook his head, and Varric poured him another ale, then one for Danal.

"Have either of you seen Bethany?" Danal said, picking up his mug.

Anders nodded. "She came by the clinic for a healing lesson and to lend a hand. I left her mixing elfroot potions. I'll see she gets home safe."

Something in the way he said that made Danal take a closer look at him. A half-smile, and that tentative, hopeful look in a man's eye when he found someone who'd caught his fancy. Oh, Maker, was the apostate sweet on his sister? Danal suppressed a sigh and pretended to study the foam on his drink. Damn, why couldn't things ever be simple?

He'd ask her about it later, maybe after dinner, when Mother and Uncle Gamlen had turned in for the night. A life on the run was a hard one. Still, Bethany was old enough to know her own mind about her heart. Immersed in those thoughts, he listened with only half-an-ear as Varric and Anders drifted into a conversation about the rumors floating through Darktown.

"Any more dead Tevinter slavers show up?" Anders asked, pulling Hawke out of his reverie.

Varric shook his head. "But more slavers arrived this morning, along with another squad of Tevinter bounty hunters."

"Someone wants someone really bad. And not in the fun way."

Anders groaned. "Maker, Hawke, that's terrible…even for you."

Danal shrugged, then sipped his ale. Talk drifted off the topic of slavers and onto some rumors Varric had heard, but no solid leads to any jobs. Having the dwarf to recommend him had certainly helped, but after paying the rest of the group, and putting money toward rent and food, not to mention repairs for armor and weapons, there wasn't much left to put aside to buy a share in Bartrand's expedition. _You'll have the money in no time_ might have been a tad optimistic.

Danal's hand slipped to the hilt of one of his daggers, a matched set. He'd probably paid more than he should have for them, but stinting on gear was a bad idea when your life depended on it. _Why can't life ever be simple? _He smiled. _And where's the fun in that, Hawke? _

From the corner of his eye, a flash of snow white hair and a lithe male body caught his attention. _What the-?_ But by the time Danal turned in his chair, the owner of both had disappeared up the stairs. He puzzled over it a moment, then shrugged and returned to his ale.


	4. Preparations

Even in a busy port like Kirkwall, the arrival of a Tevinter noble caught people's attention. An event that sent rumors flying through the docks and ale houses like 'shit through a sea-gull' as one local saying phrased it. Considering what mages were capable of, particularly ones like Danarius, Fenris couldn't find much fault with that comparison. And based on the descriptions he'd heard of the man, it could be no one else.

"Danarius," he whispered. Here in Kirkwall. Not alone. No, of course not. He needed his guards around him…and his hunters. But in a templar controlled city not even a mage as powerful as Danarius would risk an open display of his magic. He would leave it to his underlings to set up a trap to draw Fenris out. Though several days of slinking along the docks, and prowling through taverns even danker than the Hanged Man hadn't yielded much solid information.

The elf's lip curled, and it took every bit of hard-learned control and discipline to keep the lyrium marks seared into his skin from flashing blue. His other hand curled around his chipped mug, and he stared into the dregs of his ale. Tucked into a dark corner, hunched over a small table, no one noticed a lone elf nursing a drink. Around him, the Hanged Man thronged with off-shift dock workers, spending part of a day's wages on bad drink and cheap food. Their voices clattered, a dull roar of drunken conversation wrapped around him that he tried to sift through. His sharp ears caught phrases here and there, but nothing made him look up until two men at a nearby table, guzzling beer and sharing a plate of fried fish and potatoes started talking about the odd hire they'd had that day from a Tevinter mercenary. Gossip didn't cost any coin to indulge in, and so was a favorite pastime of men scrambling for every copper bit they could snag.

"Wonder what was in that chest?"

"Maker's balls, Seth, give it a bloody rest, will ya? Don't matter now, do it? 'Specially since them bounty hunters paid silver to have it hauled."

Seth tapped the side of a nose that looked like it had been broken more than once. "Aye, and to the alienage. What's with that? Dumpin' a fancy chest like that off in some abandoned shit-hole next to that blasted tree?" He leaned forward. "A man can wonder, can't 'e?"

"Wonderin' can get a man killed, 'specially when dealin' with slavers."

Seth shrugged, then took a long pull on his drink. "Maybe. Can't find nuthin' out without wonderin', can ya?"

The other man, his dirty blond hair pulled back in a rough ponytail, slapped his mug on the table, his eyes narrowing. "Hoy, I know what this is about. Yer thinkin' of goin' back there and nickin' whatever's inside. Think them slavers ain't gonna have someone watchin' it?"

"I ain't stupid."

Ponytail snorted. Seth waved a hand, and leaned forward. "Didn't weigh much, did it? Besides, somethin' that fancy's gotta have somethin' worth a lot of coin inside. Bein' light, I'm thinkin' jewels or maybe some mage trinkets."

Ponytail rolled his eyes. "Why in Andraste's tits would they stow it in the alienage?"

"Last place people would look for somthin' valuable, in't?"

"Maybe, still say ya should leave it be. Aint' no trinket worth your life."

"When's the last time we hauled somethin' like that? All that gilded scrollwork, and that fancy seal, like a sunburst with an arrow skewerin' it. We mightn't git a chance like this agin'."

"Mightn't live to see the mornin' if we do," Ponytail said, then drained his mug, and waved the pitcher at Norah.

The men continued arguing about the chest, but Fenris paid no heed. A sun pierced arrow was the seal Danarius had chosen when he'd been elected to the Senate. As for the chest…it sounded like the ones that magisters kept their research records in. Drawing energy from the Fade might be instinctive, but not wielding it. Every mage leaned the same general principles, but like the same dish prepared by different chefs, the flavor of each mage's spells were different. Those recipes were carefully recorded, along with notes of magical experiments, and whatever bits of lore could be scavenged from old relics and the occasional lucky find. Tevinter history extended back thousands of years, but wars had a nasty tendency to destroy more than they preserved.

As for why such a chest had been stored in the alienage… Fenris shifted in his seat, knowing the answer to that question. Danarius kept very detailed and meticulous notes. Notes that would hold answers to the questions the elf had about his past. In his arrogance, Danarius assumed that his 'pet' would go to ground among his own kind. Paying the porters an extravagant sum to haul it would ensure they'd talk about it.

The elf's lip curled up as his hand tightened on his mug. Tempt him with the lure of answers to questions the magister had whipped him for daring to ask. How like the man.

But such a ruse could work both ways. Fenris downed the rest of his drink in one pull. Time to contact Athenril and set his own plans in motion.

###

"Letter came for you," Uncle Gamlen said, waving a hand at the folded square of cheap paper on the small side table near the door. Danal examined the seal before he opened it, but the red wax didn't look like Uncle had tried to pry it off.

"He shook it to see if there was any money inside," Bethany said, looking up from her fish soup.

"Well, I had to make sure it hadn't been tampered with, didn't I?"

Bethany rolled her eyes. Uncle Gamlen scowled, then muttered something about having business to tend to. He left the door open and Danal gazed at it a moment before closing it.

"Who's it from?" Bethany asked as her brother settled opposite her. Picking up a bowl, she served him a generous helping of soup from the chipped bowl in the center of the table.

Danal broke the seal, then scanned the contents.

"Athenril." He glanced up and smiled. "Apparently, she misses us."

"Really?"

He handed her the note, then started eating, breaking off chunks of stale black bread and dropping them into his bowl.

Bethany's mouth twitched towards a smile as she read.

"'Didn't separate on the best of terms?' If I remember correctly, didn't she throw her mug at you when you told her what she could do with her offer?"

"If I'm going to put my ass on the line - as well as others' - it's going to be for more than 10 per cent of the net profit."

"Hmmm, she does admit that you were one of the best."

Danal's hand closed around his sister's. "So are you." And he didn't mean just as a mage.

She dropped her eyes, flushing slightly. Danal resisted the urge to chide her for it. Father had always been proud of her, had always insisted her magic was a gift, not the curse the chantry claimed. Maybe someday, Bethany would believe that. Maybe someday, she'd believe in herself.

She handed the letter back to him. "So, are we going to meet this Anso? She seemed a bit vague on the details."

"Don't have much choice, do we? Varric hasn't been able to line anything up in the last few weeks. And Aveline says the seneschal's getting nervous about hiring 'free-lancers.' If things seem too dicey, we can probably find a way to back out."

Bethany stirred her chowder around, frowning at a piece of charred fish. "I wonder what he needs done?"

Danal shrugged. "At least we know it won't involve drugs or slaves." He picked a bit of blackened onion out of his bowl. "Remind me not to let Uncle cook next time, will you?"

"Maybe you should learn to cook," his sister said, poking her spoon at him.

"Last time I tried I burned the water, remember?"

"You can't burn water. However, I do remember you ruined one of Mother's favorite pots."

"I was…distracted."

Bethany rested her chin on her hand. "You were making kissy eyes at Peter."

"Was not. I was just admiring his dagger." He laughed at her expression. "The one he kept flashing around. His father _was _Lothering's blacksmith." She stuck her tongue out at him. "Oh, all right, I was…admiring him. There was a lot to admire."

"You really should tell Mother, you know."

His eyes dropped back to his bowl, and he fiddled with his spoon. "She's got enough to worry about just now. Spending every day trying to get an appointment to talk to the seneschal."

Her hand closed gently over his wrist. "Dani-"

"You know how she goes on about bloodlines. How do I tell her I'm not"– _going to be giving her any grand-children for the Amell lineage?_ He couldn't voice the rest of that thought. Bethany was her child, too. Just because she was a mage didn't mean she couldn't find a man to love someday. Someone she might want to marry and have a family with. Father had managed, despite being confined in a Circle Tower for most of his life before he'd escaped.

Her fingers tightened on his skin. "Beth-"

She shook her head and picked up her spoon.

"Do you like Anders?" he asked. She grimaced. _Oh, that was brilliant, Hawke. _He hadn't meant to be so blunt. He never did. "Ah, I'm sorry, Beth. I didn't mean-"

"No, it's all right," she said, glancing up, even smiling a little. "I guess it would have come out sooner or later." She pulled in a deep breath, then released it. "Yes, I like him."

"Even with the spirit possession? Of course, that's like having two guys in one. You two ever get to-" He yelped when she punched his arm, then rubbed it vigorously. "Hey, watch it, that hurt."

Bethany made a face. "Oh, don't be such a baby. I didn't hit you that hard." He opened his mouth. "Don't say it, Danal Hawke, unless you want me to punch you again."

"What? I was only thinking-"

She glared at him. He laughed. "All right, I'll be good…for now."

"You are incorrigible."

He smiled and squeezed her hand. "Listen...just, be careful...alright?"

She smiled back. "I will."

He picked up his spoon. "I'd like to tag Aveline on this job, but she's been busy getting the guard in some kind of order, so…I'm thinking Isabella, if Aveline can't make it. Varric, of course, and Anders for healing." Danal managed to keep the grin off his face.

Bethany nodded. They spent the rest of dinner discussing details, then both caught a quick nap before sauntering off to the Hanged Man when the sun had just dropped below the horizon.

###

"Athenril, huh?" Varric said, then chuckled as he leaned back in his chair. "Thought you were done with her."

"I need the coin," Danal said, flipping a two-bit piece into the air, then catching it in one hand. "So, you in?"

The dwarf shrugged. "Why not? Mysterious mid-night meetings? Got to be a story in that."

Danal cocked his head and grinned. "How much you charge for those things anyway?"

"I don't charge anything. I get paid barely enough to cover the cost of ink and paper."

"Uh, huh."

Varric spread his hands. "Hawke, would I lie about my art?"

"When lying is your art, you really want me to answer that?"

Varric laughed, then rose and secured Bianca across his back. "Come on, let's collect Isabella and Blondie, then see what this Anso wants."

###

Whoever this Anso was, he didn't know much about the art of skulking. He huddled by some broken-up crates piled up against an alley wall. Avenues of attack led up to him from three sides, and facing the wall, he'd left his back dangerously exposed. He kept tugging at his belt, and glancing up at the torch flickering on the wall. Amateurs, Danal thought with a sigh. Still, gold was gold.

He sauntered up, making sure his footfalls were loud enough to be heard.

"Are you Anso?"

The dwarf jumped, then whirled around, his hand tightening on his belt…when it should have been going for his dagger.

"Aargh, don't do that…sneaking up on people." He glanced upward, his pale blue eyes wide in the torchlight. "Sorry, not used to being on the surface. I keep expecting to fall up into the sky at any moment."

Varric chuckled. "Bartrand used to be like that. Nervous as a cat every time he stepped outside."

Isabella muttered something about dwarves being strange. Anders just shrugged.

Anso peered up at Danal. "Are you the one that smuggler told me about?"

_No, I'm the one that likes to sneak around Lowtown at night, scaring dwarves not used to being on the surface._ Oh, Maker it was so tempting to say that, but Danal just nodded.

"Good, I mean…it's just…I need help recovering some product that's been…misplaced. The men who were supposed to deliver it…decided not to."

Danal rubbed a hand across his face. _Please, Maker, let this be an easy hit._

"All right, what was stolen?"

Anso chuckled nervously. "Did I say stolen? "

"Yes, you did," Danal said, and managed to keep a straight face, even when Bethany, standing behind him, poked him in the back.

The dwarf shook himself, and seemed to regain some of his composure. "The goods are valuable…and illegal."

Danal managed not to state the obvious. _Of course they're illegal, or why would we be standing here in the middle of the night in a garbage-strewn alley talking about them?_

"And my client wants them very, very badly."

_Client? Not Anso's property, then. Huh, wonder who he's working for?_

The dwarf laughed again. "You know how these templars can be."

Danal resisted the urge to throttle the dwarf. "Lyrium? You're smuggling lyrium…to the templars." _Why can't life ever be simple?_

Anders' eyes narrowed, and he fingered his staff.

"Maker's breath," Varric swore, "Between the chantry, the Carta, and the Coterie…"

Anso shook his hands. "By the Paragons, shhhhh, not so loudly." He swallowed, going a few shades paler, so that his skin seemed ghost-white in the darkness. "My word, I don't think I'm cut out for this. Maybe I should have taken that job sweeping out stables."

Isabella rolled her eyes.

"Look, just tell us where it is and we'll get it back for you." _And this is the last damn time I accept a job from Athenril. _

"Oh, thank you." Anso's relief was almost tangible. He told them where in the alienage the 'reasonable smugglers' conducted their business. After assuring him again they would retrieve it, Danal shooed him off to the Hanged Man to await their return.

Once Anso was out of earshot, Danal leaned back against the wall.

"Maker's great freezing balls, why do I smell a trap all over this?"

"Because there is one?" Isabella suggested; her hand curled around the jeweled pommel of her dagger.

"It's not unusual for smugglers to stash goods in the alienage. Maker knows there's enough abandoned buildings to hide things in. Easy enough to toss a few coins to the neighbors to keep their mouths shut. Still…" Danal frowned, then shrugged and pushed away from the wall. "Might as well go retrieve it. Beth, you and Anders guard the rear. Isabella…Varric, right and left flank, as usual. I'll take care of any traps." He rolled his shoulder. "With any luck we'll be drinking up some of the profits in the Hanged Man in less than an hour."


	5. First Meeting

Danal suppressed a grin when he spotted the thick loop of wire curled around the door handle. _If I didn't know better, I'd say they'd wanted someone to find this. Sloppy work, so it's safe to rule out the Coterie. _ He snipped the wire, slipped the small cutters into his back pocket, then gently unwrapped the wire from around the door knob.

Instinct stirred, keeping him down in the thick shadows by the door. Behind and above him, the leaves of the ancient oak rustled in the darkness, the scent of something green and living mixing oddly with the smell of a backed-up sewer. Danal glanced behind him where his companions crouched in the heavy tree shadows. _Then again, maybe they did intend it to be found…which means they're expecting someone._

He pressed his ear to the door. The soft scrapes across the floor could just be rats rummaging through the trash…or the restless stirrings of impatient smugglers. Safest to assume the latter.

Danal glided back to his companions and whispered his speculations.

"Amateurs," Isabella said, her teeth flashing in a stray beam of moonlight.

"Maybe, but even amateurs can get lucky. So, nothing fancy." His fingers brushed Beth's hand curled around her staff. "Keep the magic tight and low. The templars are on the other side of Lowtown this time of night, but best not to cast anything that might catch their attention in case they decided to change their patrol routes. Just a flash spell. And Anders…"

"Yes?"

"For the same reason, heal during the fight only if one of us looks like we're going to bleed out. Otherwise, feel free to swing that staff around." He glanced at Beth. "Both of you. With it, you've got a longer reach than a sword, remember that."

"Aye, aye, Captain," Bethany whispered, and threw him a salute. Danal rolled his eyes, then glided back towards the house, drawing one of his daggers as he went. Pausing at the door, he glanced back, noting everyone's position. Varric patted Bianca, then raised her to his shoulder.

Danal nodded at his sister, then turned the handle before shoving the door open with his foot while drawing his other dagger. He crouched down, scrunching his eyes shut, not opening them till after the brief, brilliant flash of Bethany's light spell faded out.

Curses erupted around him, one sounding on the left and two off on his right.

Just before he opened his eyes, Danal caught the meaty thwack of one of Bianca's bolts striking a thug, followed by a strangled gasp.

Eyes now open, Danal surged forward, pivoting out of the way of a woman stumbling forward, clutching at the bolt in her shoulder. Just behind him, Isabella took out another trying to flank him. Like every other back-alley fight with a local gang Danal had had over the last year, it was short and brutal. At the end of it, every thug lay dead, pools of blood spreading out to merge with one another.

Varric, Bianca held safely up, toed one over, her gang badge gleaming dully through the blood. "Looks like they're from Sharp's gang."

"Not anymore," Danal muttered, wiping his blades off with a bit of rag he'd snagged off a table. "Damn, why couldn't they have just run?" He dropped the bloody scrap of cloth on the floor.

"They thought they could win," Isabella said, flipping her daggers back into their sheaths after wiping them off on a thug.

"Which means they weren't expecting much opposition," Varric said, eyeing the eight bodies sprawled across the floor.

Danal jerked open a rickety inner door. "Let's just retrieve Anso's property and get out of here." _The sooner the better._

He paused when he spotted the gaudy chest resting on the scuffed wooden floor near the far wall of the small back room. It wasn't just that it looked out of place in the shabby house, but lyrium smugglers packaged their goods into plain, iron boxes, heavily padded with wool to cushion against breakage, and wrapped in stout chains secured with heavy padlocks.

He wasn't surprised to find the chest empty.

"Son of a bitch," Varric said, then kicked the chest into the wall.

Danal grimaced. _Shit, what a useless way to die, defending an empty chest. I'll wager my share of the expedition profits they didn't know that, either. What kind of game is Anso playing?_

"Let's just go find Anso and see if we can find out what's going on."

Seven heavily armed and armored figures melted out of the shadows as soon as Danal and his companions stepped outside the front door.

"That's not the elf," a woman with a heavy Tevinter accent said, gesturing towards them with a mailed hand.

Danal started. _Elf? What the-_

"Doesn't matter," said a man, drawing his sword. "Take them down. We'll sort it out later."

"Shit," Varric said behind him. As he dove to the side, Danal heard the sound of Bianca being ratcheted back. Isabella darted left, her blades already in her hands as she moved to flank one of the guards.

A slender fire bolt lanced out over Danal's head. Bethany's work, and he prayed the templars were still on the other side of Lowtown.

Anders sent lightning arcing around them, taking out two of the guards. Not exactly low key and subtle, but definitely effective. Combined with Beth's firebolt that meant three down, tilting the odds more in their favor.

Danal cursed when he spotted two mages stepping out of the shadows on opposite sides of the small square. A translucent sphere encircled the one on the far left. He couldn't cast, but neither blade nor magic could take him out as long as that protection was in place. So, Danal sprinted for the closer one, near the steps that led down into the labyrinth of streets that wound through the alienage. Pulling a small throwing dagger from his left boot, he aimed for the gut, an easier target to hit than a man's throat when on the run. The mage twisted and the dagger embedded in his upper thigh, near his hip.

He hissed, then raised his arms, his spell chant falling into a curse as the magebane coated on the blade took effect. Three strides closed the distance between them. A quick clean slide of Danal's dagger between his ribs, and the mage crumpled to the ground, dead before he hit it. Maker, he was doing this too often of late, taking lives simply to keep his own.

"Bloody damn fools," he muttered, swinging around to bury his dagger in a hunter's throat before she could gut him. At least it was one less slaver stalking the alleys. From the corner of his eye, he saw Isabella skip. A stream of Rivaini curses spilled from her as she parried blow after blow after blow.

He twisted around, his hand reaching for the throwing dagger in his other boot when a force feeling like an open hand slapped him to the ground. Cursing, he shoved against it. A blade flashed into view, then the wielder fell forward, smelling of burned flesh and hair. The shield carried by the slain hunter slammed into the bony part of Danal's hip, then briefly ground against it during the man's death throws. Shit, that hurt.

He felt a surge of magic gathering, a cool wet tingle across the back of his neck. It didn't feel like Beth's magic, probably Anders. Didn't matter who it came from, since after that surge, Danal could roll to his feet after shoving off the dead hunter.

He gained his footing only to find Isabella dancing around the last two hunters while Beth and Anders focused on the mage. Twisting and turning, she kept away from their slashing swords, but the hunters were fast and almost as agile as the Rivaini pirate. She couldn't land a blow, and Varric couldn't get a clean shot at either. Skilled as he was with Bianca, he wasn't much use in a knife fight.

As he surged toward the two hunters, Danal groaned inwardly at the thought that this wasn't the kind of threesome that sometimes invaded his dreams that he'd had in mind.

Isabella ducked, giving Varric –off on Danal's left - a clear line of sight to one of the hunters. A heartbeat later, the slaver dropped to the ground. Danal darted to the right, Isabella to the left. Flanked, the last hunter went down, stabbed in the kidney and the throat, Danal's dagger aimed for a major artery. The slaver bled out quickly, falling to his knees, his sword swings going weak and aimless as his life pumped out before he toppled over. A strangled gasp behind Danal told him the mage had finally gone down.

"Everyone all right?" he called out, leaning on his knees, his bruised hip throbbing now that the flush of battle fever was leaving him.

"Nothing major," Anders said, coming up. Blood trickled down the side of his face.

"Nothing?" Danal said, still bent over.

The apostate shook his head. "Not mine, the other fellow's." He rubbed his jaw and winced. "Did have a good right hook, though. Must train mages differently in Tevinter."

"Dani?" Beth's voice, laced with concern.

"Just a bad bruise." Anders laid a hand over it, and Danal loosed a sigh of relief as the pain faded into a mild soreness that would be gone by morning.

A quick search of the bodies turned up some coin, but no clues on why Tevinter slave hunters seemed to have set up a trap in the alienage for an elf. Crouched by one of the mage's bodies, Danal thought it seemed like way too many hunters for one individual. Then again, thinking back over the gossip he'd heard in the last month of at least two more bands of Tevinter slavers being found dead and butchered…maybe not.

"Find anything?" Varric asked, striding up, Bianca cradled against his shoulder. Danal shook his head and rose.

"No, but I'd like to know who they're after, and who sent them. They were good. Someone spent a lot of coin."

"I think we're about to find out," Anders murmured behind him.

A thin, hard mouth lay beneath that wispy mustache, Danal thought as he straightened. The man, who had what was probably an officer's badge affixed to his breastplate, didn't even glance at the bodies strewn around the tree, watering it with their blood.

"I don't know who you are, but you made a serious mistake coming here," the man said, then called out "Lieutenant, I want everyone in the clearing…now."

"And the fun just keeps on coming," Danal muttered, his hands tightening on his weapons. He shifted to the balls of his feet, sensing his companions fanning out behind him when a lone man staggered around the corner, then down the steps. He opened his mouth, then fell facedown, rolling to the bottom of the stairs, his blood adding to the pool creeping around the tree.

"Your men are dead," a resonant voice laced with the accent of Tevinter said. "Your trap has failed," the owner of that voice continued, gliding into view. The elf's eyes caught Danal's, held them for a brief moment, before he turned back to the slaver. In the moonlight, Danal couldn't see the color of his eyes, but they gleamed sharp and brilliant.

The rest of his words were lost in the warm shiver down Danal's spine that voice aroused, like a lover's caress. He stared at that white hair, silver in the bright moonlight as the elf pushed past the startled Tevinter hunter.

_Wait…white hair…Where have I seen… the Hanged Man,.. a few weeks ago…crap…He's the one they're after?_

The hunter snarled at something the elf said and grabbed his shoulder. "You're coming with me, slave."

The elf twisted around, but instead of aiming a blow at his attacker's head or arm to dislodge it, the elf's hand pulsed blue, then white as he buried it in the man's chest.

"I am not a slave."

The words rang with defiance, a denial on a deep and primal level Danal felt resonating in his gut.

For a heartbeat, the slaver didn't seem to realize what had happened. Then the elf jerked his hand back, and…

Danal swallowed the bile rising up his throat as he stared at the still beating organ. The coppery smell of blood filled his nose. _Damn… is that his…heart?_

"Holy shit," Varric whispered behind him as the slaver's heart slid out of the elf's grasp and hit the bloody ground with a wet plop.

Danal sensed Bethany come up very close behind him; from the corner of his eye he saw her clutching her staff, her knuckles bone-white. For a moment, elf and human just stared at one another. Maker's great freezing balls, what did you say to someone who had just spared you another battle by ripping someone's heart out of his chest? Fortunately, the elf spoke first, relieving Danal of the probability of saying something stupid.

"I apologize."

The tight feeling in Danal's gut loosened a bit, then slid into surprised uncertainty. It seemed an odd way to introduce yourself.

The elf stepped past the man whose heart he'd just ripped out, neatly avoiding the pools of blood. He gazed down at the scattered bodies a moment before continuing.

"When Athenril found Anso to arrange a distraction for me, I had no idea the hunters would be so numerous."

"So, you're the one responsible for this?" Danal asked, flicking his dagger at a nearby body.

"Yes. My name is Fenris, and these men were Imperial bounty hunters tasked with collecting a magister's lost property…" He inclined his head. "Namely, myself. But there were too many for me to face alone." He smiled. And Danal felt something inside him melt, going soft and squishy. Oh, Maker, this was _not_ the time for his lust to decide it needed an airing. "Fortunately, Anso chose well."

"Slavers," the human muttered, then glanced at Varric. "Have I mentioned I hate slavers?"

"Only several times a day."

Danal turned to Fenris. "Look, if you needed help getting rid of these vermin, all you had to do was ask."

"I've met few in my travels who care for anything beyond their own needs or desires. Coin is usually required for such…requests." He didn't sound bitter about that, just stating a fact as he saw it. "If I may ask…was there…anything in the chest?"

"No."

Fenris glanced away, disappointment and longing flashing across his face. "I had hoped…" He shrugged. "No matter. It was only bait, nothing more."

_But you wanted it to be more. And just what would tempt you out of hiding and risk going up against a few dozen men? Even if you used me as a proxy to even the odds for you. _ And just what had those odds been? That dead captain had clearly been expecting more than a few soldiers to come to his aid.

That question and others flitted through Danal's mind as Fenris crouched to examine the dead man. Funny, shouldn't there be a gaping hole where his heart had been? But there wasn't, just a smear of blood across his polished armor. And what were those silver-white markings branching over the elf's arms and curling around his throat and over the front of his chin? Just how far _did _they extend? Over his entire body? Oh, that was not a good place to go, not at this moment, at least. So Danal pulled his thoughts away from where his lust wanted to take them, but he still couldn't help staring at the delicate interlacing tattoos he could see.

Fenris rose, a silver-toned key gleaming in his hand. Attached to it with a black ribbon was a gold token, a sun pierced by an arrow, the same symbol as on that empty gilded chest. The elf's lip curled and Danal half-expected to hear a snarl coming out of him.

"As I thought. Danarius is here." His hand closed around the key, and those markings flashed blue then settled. He glanced up, and though moonlight made it hard to discern, Danal swore a faint flush touched the elf's cheek when he noticed the human staring at him. Of course, he was standing pretty damn close to the man.

The elf eased back half-a-step, and smiled. But this time, it seemed like a mask falling over his face. He glanced down at his arms.

"I suppose I must look strange to you. I never wanted these markings, but they have served me well."

"They let you…" Danal motioned to the body minus one heart at his feet. Fenris nodded. "I'm going to take a wild-assed guess here and assume that's why this Danarius wants you back."

"Yes."

Danal heard a lot of anger in that single word. "Why do I think you don't want to find him just for a friendly chat?"

The fury that gathered in the elf's face reminded the human of the spring thunderstorms that had sometimes torn up the countryside around Lothering. Fierce and raging, one had flattened a line of slender trees at the edge of his family's small farm in the time it took to draw a single breath.

"Danarius intends to strip these markings he carved into my flesh to recover his 'investment.' He's sent so many hunters after me I stopped keeping count a long time ago. Before that, he often kept me on a leash like a Qunari mage, a pet to mock Qunari custom." He paused to draw a deeper breath, his eyes narrowing, going dark as a storm-tossed sea. "So, yes, I intend to do more than just talk."

Danal caught only Beth's reaction, a sharp indrawn hiss and her body quivering slightly as she eased up on her brother's left side. Since the rest were out of his range of sight, he couldn't see their reactions.

"Well, he sounds like a real sweetheart. Can't imagine why you'd want to gut him." _Oh, brilliant, Hawke, laying sarcasm on someone who can rip out your heart in a heart beat. _He winced at the unintended pun, then shrugged off his reaction. "But if you're looking for help, count me in."

"You're out of your bloody mind," Isabella said, stepping forward. "A Tevinter magister is not someone you take down on a whim."

Danal threw her a lopsided grin. "Hey, in for a copper, in for a sovereign." Then that cocky look faded. "Look, I know what I'm getting into, and I could use your help on this. But if you want to wait it out at the Hanged Man, I understand." _Damn, a Tevinter magister. From what Father told us about Imperium mages that means blood magic is probably going to be involved._

"Oh, bollocks," she muttered, then sighed and waved a hand. "All right, but you owe me a big one for this, Hawke."

"Are you sure about this?" Varric said.

Danal motioned to the bodies around them. A corner of his mind noticed that the Tevinter slaver's heart had finally stopped beating.

"If we don't end it tonight, they're going to just keep coming." He looked at Fenris. "Aren't they?" The elf nodded. "That settles it. Between the qunari, the templars, the Coterie, the Carta, the chantry, a viscount who sits on his ass, and Maker knows how many gangs, mercenary bands, and smuggling groups, I think Kirkwall has enough to handle without throwing foreign slavers into the mix." _Not to mention another damn blood mage. _ He turned back to Fenris. "You know where he is?"

"There's a mansion in Hightown Danarius makes use of. But we need to go there soon, before he realizes his hunting party won't be returning."

Danal nodded, then motioned for him to lead the way.


	6. First Impressions

Fenris had had his doubts about Anso arranging a suitable distraction. But with limited coin, he'd had few options. Still, he thought, glancing at the muscular human striding beside him, matching his pace perfectly, the dwarf had chosen well. Maybe that _had_ been more luck than skill, but Fenris was not going to throw Fortune's favor back in her face, not when he had a chance of finally taking down the tiger.

It still nagged at his memory as to where he had seen the human before. Judging by his accent he wasn't from Kirkwall, or anywhere in the Free Marches. Something about him was annoyingly familiar, though, especially that cocky grin. Though as superficial and flippant as his manner seemed, he was clearly a skilled fighter.

The Rivaini woman behind him chuckled at something the dwarf said as the small party emerged from yet another stinking rubbish strewn alley. Fenris paused at the dimly lit corner where two narrow streets crossed and scraped the sole of his right boot against the curb. Thank the Maker he'd had the sense to shove aside the training beaten into him from childhood that elven slaves were not to wear shoes, a not so subtle reminder they were of no more value than a well-trained beast.

Looking up from wiping off some unknown animal's dung, he caught a faint smile on the human's face. In the dim light, his eyes looked black, but the flames from the wall torch danced in their depths. The interlaced curving tattoos that decorated both his cheeks only served to draw even more attention to his eyes.

"I suppose I should introduce myself." He touched his chest, then motioned to a woman with short dark hair behind him. "Danal Hawke…my sister, Bethany."

The woman –she looked very young- nodded and smiled at him. The wooden staff she carried bore no runes and was tipped with iron at both ends, as was the staff the man Hawke named Anders bore. Suspicion about those stirred, but he didn't have time to reflect on it as Danal quickly moved on to the others. Isabella gave him an appraising look just short of an outright leer. No, it was an outright leer the elf decided. When the human introduced Varric and Bianca, Fenris remembered where he had seen these two. The Hanged Man. The ones he'd seen on his first visit and dismissed as not being desperate enough for his purposes. Apparently, he'd been wrong.

"So," Danal said, stepping out into the street, the others trailing them. "Anything in particular we should know about this Danarius?"

At least a dozen things came to mind, but the human wasn't interested in his whining about past grievances.

"What do you wish to know?"

Danal veered to the right, toward a long set of broad stairs that led up to Hightown.

"How he likes his tea might be a good place to start. Cream or lemon? With or without sugar? Does he like those little finger sandwiches? Me, I prefer those Orlesian sponge cakes, the…" He waved his hand. "What do they call them again, Varric?"

Training and practice let the elf hide his irritation. _Venhedis. What does this have to do with anything?_

"Hawke, don't you think knowing what kind of defenses he might have set up would be more useful?" Varric asked, sounding amused rather than irritated.

"Oh, I don't know. You can tell a lot about people from how they serve tea."

Fenris grimaced. He had a fair idea of the man's skill with his daggers, but he seemed a scatter-wit. Those dark eyes glanced at him, and the right corner of his mouth curved up higher when he noticed the elf's sour look. Fenris tugged his eyes away from that lopsided grin. Why in the name of the Maker did he find that so attractive?

"When I was about thirteen, Mother decided I needed to learn some 'refinement.' So she started dragging me along with her when she had tea with the neighbors." He laughed, a light easy sound. "Maker, those were boring affairs. I'd rather have been out roaming the woods or even doing farm chores. Never was much for sitting in one place for hours. Still, after a while I started noticing that every home did it differently. So, to kill the boredom, I started paying more attention. The blacksmith's wife always held it outdoors in her back garden if the weather cooperated. And she always used her best dishes, no matter who came. She even invited elves, and if you didn't like that...well, you knew where the door was and you could see yourself out."

Varric chuckled. "I think I would have liked this woman."

"There was always plenty of food left over," Danal continued, "...and she always insisted that her guests take it home. I won't bore you with a description of every tea I went to, but her's are the ones I remember the best."

The elf frowned. He still didn't see the point of this rambling story.

Danal glanced at Fenris. "It's all connected. Mary was a kind, generous woman. If you were going through hard times, you could count on a smile from her, and a basket of vegetables from her garden or a loaf of bread. After a new baby arrived, she was the first to come over to help with cooking and cleaning. So, you look deep enough, a preference in the way you like your tea or how you serve it says something fundamental about you as a person."

"Or maybe that milk just gives them gas," Fenris remarked dryly, startling himself as well as Danal. The elf covered it by lengthening his stride. The human caught up quickly, his soft laughter oddly pleasing.

"Yes, there's that possibility, too." His smile deepened as he glanced at Fenris. "Though Varric's right. Knowing Danarius' taste in magical traps would be more useful at the moment."

"He prefers those involving blood magic." _Like every magister I've had the misfortune of knowing._

"I hate blood mages," Anders muttered behind him. Something they could agree on, Fenris thought.

"Crap, that means demons and shades," Danal said. "But would he risk setting up those kind of protections here in Kirkwall? Blood magic generates a lot of energy, something that might attract templar attention. I'd think he'd want to avoid that outside of Tevinter."

"He's a magister," Fenris said. That earned him an appraising look from the human he wasn't quite sure how to read. Combined with his comments since that rambling story it was clear there was more to the man than his earlier flippant remarks suggested.

Danal paused at the top of the second set of stairs. They all panted lightly from the steep climb, even Fenris.

"Any idea how many guards he might have with him?" Danal asked.

"He's never traveled with less than eight. And they're very well trained."

"Better than the ones we encountered in the alienage?" Isabella asked.

"Yes."

She swore briefly in Rivaini.

"You've got that look, Hawke." Varric said, sauntering forward.

Danal arched a brow at him. "What look?"

"The 'oh, shit, what have I gotten myself into this time' one."

To Fenris' surprise, the human laughed. "Maybe, but I was trying to think of the best way to approach this…situation." He glanced around. "Charging through the front door is out. Besides alerting Danarius to us, the city guard runs regular patrols through Hightown. I don't want them on my rear or trying to come to the aid of an 'innocent' civilian. Aveline's done a lot to improve their training, but they're not up to handling demons…not yet, anyway. Not to mention that I don't want to force her into a decision we'd both regret."

Varric raised a hand. "I don't think-"

"I know." Danal spread his fingers. "We're friends. But she takes her responsibilities as guard captain very seriously. She's been able to let some things slide in the past. But…this is Hightown, not an abandoned shack in the alienage or Darktown. Nobles can get…very touchy about their property."

"So what do you suggest?" Isabella said, one hand on her hip.

"First, let's get out of sight. The guards won't pay much attention to one armed person at night, but all of us together are going to draw attention."

They climbed the rest of the stairs in silence, then Hawke led them to one of those small pocket gardens scattered between the mansions of Hightown. Late summer, the heavy growth provided plenty of cover. Fenris understood the man's caution, but impatience boiled in his belly, made his hand twitch around his sword. He forced himself to calm, and pushed the hungry need to exact some shred of justice to the back of his mind while he focused on Hawke.

Once settled behind a tall screen of flowering bushes in a bright puddle of moonlight, the human leaned back against the brick wall and closed his eyes. Fenris stared. A nap? The man was taking a _nap_? Half-rising out of his crouch, his hand curling around his sword hilt, he started when Bethany's hand, warm and light, closed over his forearm. On instinct, he jerked his arm back, a soft growl sounding in the back of his throat.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean…" Her fingers closed into a loose fist, and she pulled her hand back. "I'm sorry."

He shook his head, pitched his voice soft so he wouldn't frighten her. "My apologies, I didn't mean to startle you."

Bethany nodded and motioned to her brother. "It's all right. He's thinking," she whispered. "He says it's less distracting with his eyes closed."

"Not if you keep talking, Beth," Danal murmured.

She made a face at him while Isabella rolled her eyes. Varric picked specks of dirt only he could see off Bianca. Anders fingered his staff and stared out at nothing in particular as the moments piled up.

Fenris tried not to fidget. Clearly, his newfound companions were used to this odd behavior, but he wasn't sure what to make of it. Was the man truly thinking? Or was this just an excuse to postpone the battle? Still, these people had taken out two groups in quick succession, one of them a band of well-trained and well-armed Tevinter hunters. Fenris settled back, willing his body to stay loose. Nothing to do but wait out whatever the man was up to.

"Does this mansion have a wine cellar?" Danal asked, his eyes still closed.

"I've never been there, but I've heard Danarius speak of it. Why?"

Opening his eyes, the human leaned forward. "Wine cellars in Hightown mansions usually have a separate outside entrance. Though not every house has its own cellar. Ours does."

Fenris arched a brow. "You…live in a mansion?"

Danal shook his head. "Let's just say it's family property and leave it at that. We make it through this, I'll tell you the story."

"It's a good one," Varric murmured.

The human's eyes took on an unfocused look. "The cellar opens up in the pantry which is just off the kitchen." His eyes narrowed as he flicked fingers first right, and then left. "Short hall to the dining room. Servant quarters off on the left. Usually a private stairway from there to the bedrooms on the upper floor."

"You're assuming it's laid out the same as your own," Fenris said.

"Odds are it is. From what you've told me Danarius lives literally right around the corner from what used to be my mother's home. From what she told me, the same builder constructed all the houses on that block." He shrugged. "Even if it's not the exact same layout, it's probably not much different."

He rose, and brushed off the seat of his pants. Fenris caught himself looking, then glanced away, flushing, and grateful for the dark shadows that hid his reaction. Since he'd fled Danarius two years ago he hadn't been close to anyone, a situation which had suited him just fine. So why did this man who seemed to have little respect for anything, judging by his flippant words, snag his attention? Oddly enough, though, Hawke seemed to have the respect of the people who followed him.

The human turned to face this decidedly mixed group. In the shifting shadows of the tiny garden it was hard to read his face, but in his soft words the tone of authority was unmistakable.

"The wine cellar entrance is at the back of the house. Stay close behind me. Stay quiet." He glanced at Fenris, then at the plain broadsword – some called it a 'bastard sword' – strapped to his hip. "I'm going to assume you take a more direct approach to fighting. And that you know something about taking out demons since Danarius is a blood mage."

"I've sent my share back to the Fade."

Danal smiled and pulled out one of his long daggers. "I prefer to attack from behind. Take them out if you can, otherwise, keep them distracted."

Fenris just nodded, then followed him out of the garden.


	7. You Know It Don't Come Easy

Danal didn't trust it when things came easy. Like the wine cellar door being unlocked and the lamps burning brightly in their wall sconces between the large oak barrels and racks of dusty bottles. The light being an advantage only in that no one would inadvertently trip over something in the dark, alerting whatever guards were waiting above. A liability since there would be no shadows to hide in if Danarius fancied a drink. It was clear from what Fenris' had said the magister expected his guards to be returning with his 'property.' So it seemed safe to assume -if he was here - that he hadn't turned in for the night like a good little mage.

Standing near the steps that led to the pantry, Danal paused and cocked his head. This place felt so bloody empty. Even disciplined guards made noise. But he heard no footsteps, no muffled words of stray conversation, no scrape of a chair across the floor. With men awake, someone should be on duty in the kitchen, putting out food and drink for those coming off watch. He knew that much from stories Mother had told about growing up in a noble house. But only the faint smell of mold and dust tickled his nose.

The elf glided closer. For a man trained in a more open style of fighting, he moved as silent as a cat. Then again, running for his life and his freedom had probably instilled lessons in stealth.

"It's too quiet," Fenris murmured, fingering the hilt of his sword.

"Funny, I was just thinking the same thing," Danal said, pulling out a dagger with his left hand, then gliding up to the wooden steps. They looked sturdy. No warps or cracks. His gut loosened a little as he gained the top step with no tell-tale squeaks.

Right hand on the latch, he eased the door open. Slightly ajar, light spilled in between the edge of the pantry door and the frame, illuminating a pile of onions on an open shelf. Their pungent aroma mixed with that of ripe peaches and melons and fresh bread.

Easing forward, Danal peered through the slightly open door. No one in the kitchen and he still couldn't hear anything. The hairs on the back of his neck stirred. Underneath the smell of fruit and bread, he caught another, too familiar, scent. Blood. He eased back, his heart beating hard and fast, muscles tensing for battle.

"I don't think we're going to find anyone alive," he whispered, turning to Fenris.

The elf's face hardened, but he didn't look very surprised.

Danal eased the door open, then slipped into the kitchen. A human woman of middle years sprawled, face down, a faint pinkish stain on the white tile floor surrounding her. The air had a metallic tang to it – not blood – but the hot-iron taste he associated with blood magic. It filled his mouth, making Danal want to spit. He swallowed it, then drew his other dagger.

"Oh, this is not good," Varric whispered, stepping up beside Hawke.

"I hate blood-mages," Anders muttered behind him.

"Oh, Maker," Bethany said, sliding closer to the apostate. "Normal tactics for demons?"

Danal nodded.

"You've fought demons before?" Fenris asked.

"Oh, we've had lots of practice lately, haven't we, Beth? Kirkwall's been knee-deep in blood mages the past few weeks." Danal grimaced. "Just ignore me. It's been a bad month."

He moved into the short hallway that led to the dining room. He'd just taken in the three dead guards when two shades erupted from the floor and a rage demon boiled out of a far corner. The blood smell thickened, shrieks shredding the air and slicing down his nerves.

Fenris darted out, phasing into blue-white translucence, and his sword sang through the air. Damn, he moved fast.

"You tell him, sweetheart," Varric shouted, as bolts peppered the shade Fenris danced with, then decapitated in one smooth stroke.

A lightning bolt from Anders arched out, singeing the second shade.

Danal swung to the left, out of the way of the ice bolts he felt Bethany gathering. They skimmed past him, slowing but not stopping the rage demon coming his way.

Pivoting behind it, his left dagger sliced across its back, spilling ichor and fire. It howled in pain, swinging around, its clawed hands raking through the empty space Danal had occupied only a moment before.

"Missed me," Danal said, grinning. He caught Fenris' eye, and skipped back again, waving his dagger, keeping the demon's attention focused on him. The elf phased out again, lunging through the demon then pivoting, his arms and sword going solid as he cleaved it in two through the waist - or what passed for a demon's waist. By this time, the others had taken out the second shade.

The demon's bodies were already fading, dissolving back into the Fade, leaving the faint smell of the blood that had summoned them behind.

"I escaped a land of dark magic, only to find myself plagued by it once again," Fenris said, still holding his sword out, those green eyes narrow and hard, focused on Bethany and Anders. "I should have realized sooner what you were." His eyes flicked to Danal. "You harbor vipers in your midst."

Bethany flushed and she stepped forward. "You can talk to me directly, you know."

Danal stepped between them.

Fenris didn't lower his sword. "They'll turn on you the moment you let your guard down. It's their nature."

Anders scowled.

Danal's hands tightened on his daggers. "Maybe for some, but my sister is a lot stronger than you think."

"You tell him, brother."

Fenris eyes flicked between them, then settled on Anders. "I don't doubt that _some_ mages have good intentions. But I've seen too many fall to temptation. Their magic becomes a curse they inflict upon others."

_Like Danarius inflicted those markings on you? Shit, we don't have time for this. _"Do you really want to argue tactics in the middle of a demon-infested house with the people who are trying to save your ass?" _Oh, that was brilliant, Hawke. Good thing no one's tried to hire you as a diplomat._

Fenris lowered his sword till the tip touched the floor. "I'm not blind. I know magic has its uses. If I appear ungrateful, I apologize." His face softened then. "For nothing could be further from the truth."

_He means it. _There was something disarmingly direct about the man. How someone could be so closed and so open at the same time was a mystery better saved for later, though, Danal thought. If they survived this night.

"All right, I'll accept that. Now, let's just hope Danarius decided to only conjure shades and rage demons."

Varric laughed. "Only? Hawke, have I told you your optimism is one of the qualities I most admire in you?"

Danal shook his head, then waved his dagger at the door leading into the receiving room. "Come on; let's find out what other surprises this magister has left."

Plenty, it seemed, judging by the number of shades infesting every room. After taking out the last one in a side room on the first floor that seemed to function as a secondary wine cellar, Danal sank to his knees, his sides heaving, his shoulders and arms bruised and aching. Isabella lay stretched out near one of the barrels, cursing in Rivaini while Anders focused on repairing the deep gashes running almost the length of her thigh. At least, luck seemed to be favoring them to the extant that no guards or templars had showed up…yet.

"Shit," Varric muttered through clenched teeth as Beth popped his right shoulder back into place. His grimace eased into a sigh of relief as healing energy flowed out of her hands, easing the soreness.

"You're hurt," Fenris said, moving away from the wall he was holding up to kneel beside Danal.

"It's nothing, just a few scratches."

Fenris arched an elegant brow. "A few scratches?"

Balanced on the balls of his feet, he pivoted, scooping up a large pewter cup that had been knocked off a shelf during the fight, then filled it from one of the wine barrels. A stance that also showed off his lithe muscularity to good advantage, Danal swallowed and tried to find something else to stare at.

Cradling the human's left forearm in his palm he poured the wine over the cuts. The touch of that gauntleted hand sent a shiver through Danal's loins, then he hissed at the stinging pain as the wine washed away the blood. Damn, those 'scratches' had been deeper than he'd thought.

Finished with Varric, Beth hurried over and the elf glided out of her way, retreating to the doorway, his sword point down on the floor in front of him.

"Dani, you need to be more careful," she said, examining his wounds.

"I _was _being careful." He studied her face. "How are you doing?"

She waved a hand, still studying the gashes on his left forearm. "Fine."

"Beth-"

Looking up, she gently squeezed his hand. "Really. I can handle a few more demons. Now, be quiet so I can close this up without you scarring too badly."

He wanted to joke about how would anyone believe his story of this fight if he didn't have the scars to prove it, but one glance at the grim look on the elf's face dissuaded him. What Fenris wanted went far beyond simple revenge, if there was such a thing. Whatever Danarius had done to him had gone soul-deep. Instinct told Danal it wasn't just about the intricate lyrium lines 'carved into' his flesh or being led around on a leash, humiliating as that must have been. He shivered. Beth glanced up, the glow in her hands wavering a moment.

"It's all right," he assured his sister. "Just…been a long night."

She nodded, and bent back to her healing. He kept his gaze on his arm, watching the jagged cuts sealing up one by one, leaving only thin white lines. Deft and sure, he felt the energy seeping into his arm. Anders might have his own set of problems, but he was a skilled teacher.

Danal glanced up and saw that Isabella was now sitting and examining her leg through the rents in her trousers. Anders slumped against the wall, massaging the side of his head.

"You all right?" Danal asked.

The apostate nodded. "Just give me a few minutes. Those lacerations were deep."

"You're good, sweet thing. Can barely see the scars."

Anders' smiled. "Yes, your charms are intact, my dear."

Isabella laughed, and rose, then wavered a bit before leaning against the wall. "Bollocks, I hate demons."

"Varric?" Danal asked.

The dwarf patted his crossbow. "Bianca and I are a team again."

Bethany pulled her hands away and the warm tingle of healing magic faded from Danal's flesh. He flexed his wrist and fingers and noted only a slight soreness. Nothing he couldn't work around. He'd pushed through battles with far worse injuries.

"Well, look at this," Varric said, rising from his crouch near one of the bodies. He held up a plain iron key. "Three guesses as to which room this opens."

Danal glanced at the body. He tallied up the mental count he'd made of each room. Over a dozen people had been slaughtered to supply Danarius with power. His gut tightened. Casual murder wasn't something he'd ever understood. Taking a life in the midst of anger…he could see how that might happen. But this…

He turned, his gaze falling on the elf. "Did you recognize any of the people Danarius killed?"

Fenris shook his head. "They're most likely mercenaries he hired. None of them wear his house badge. He's invested a great deal of gold in the training of his personal guard."

"So he isn't going to use them as battle fodder," Danal muttered. "Damn, that probably means-" _he's not even here. I'll wager this is another ruse, like the one Fenris set up for us._

The elf cocked his head. "Probably means what?"

"That there's probably going to be more demons to take out before this is done with."_ And judging by that look you're giving me, you don't believe that's what I was going to say. _

Fenris shrugged and hefted his weapon. "Shall we press on?"

Nothing jumped out at them from the floor or corners of the receiving room, though that hot-iron smell warned Danal of more blood-magic traps. Bethany shifted closer to him, her eyes searching the open spaces around them.

"Sense any demons, Beth?" He pitched his voice low, so it wouldn't carry beyond their small group…just in case Danarius was still here. After working together for over a year, the others knew to do the same.

"Yes and no. It's like walking through one of those caves…where it feels like pieces of webbing are brushing your face, but you can't see anything. And when you go to wipe it away, there's nothing there." She frowned. "Does that make sense?"

"Perfect sense," Anders said, inching closer to her.

Danal glanced up the stairs at the heavy oak door that dominated the center of the wall stretching the length of the wide landing. So far, this house had followed the same layout as Mother's, so behind _that _door lay the master's bedroom. Eying the intricately carved door panels, he held his hand out to Varric.

"Give me that key you found."

"Surely you're not going in without me, Hawke?" Varric said as he dropped it on Danal's palm.

"That's exactly what I'm going to do." He motioned to both ends of the landing. "Anders and Isabella, you take left flank. Beth and Varric, the right. Cover the stair opposite. And Fenris?"

"Yes?"

Challenge, irritation –probably at the implication of being left behind - and what sounded like genuine curiosity all rolled into one word. Damn, the man had a gift.

"Stay on my right. I tend to lead with my left."

"So I've noticed."

Danal nodded. _Was that a joke? Sort it out later, Hawke. Right now, there's a trap to spring. _He glided up the steps, the others spreading out to their assigned positions as he approached the door. The elf shifted beside him, his hands tightening on his weapon, a small dark smile curving up the corners of his mouth.

_He really expects to find Danarius beyond this door…or maybe he's just hoping because the alternative doesn't bear thinking about. _

Danal slipped the key into the lock. It turned easily and the door swung open on silent hinges.

No one waited in the room.

The only things that greeted them were overturned drawers, scattered clothes, and papers strewn across the floor and unmade bed. A chest similar to the empty one in the alienage stood open in a corner; a heavy gold ring set with a sapphire, a ruby pendant, and a few small jeweled daggers spilled around it. Hawke loosed a breath. _At least there aren't any bodies._

"No," Fenris whispered, stepping into the room.

A tremor passed through him, than a loud stream of curses in Arcanum followed, the elf's sword rising. Reading his intention, Danal pivoted and skipped back out of the way as Fenris swung around burying the edge of his blade in the doorframe. The moment the human's foot hit the edge of the thick rug under the bed he felt a vibration pass through the floor. He realized then that the spilled trinkets had been bait to lure someone deeper into the room and trigger a mage trap.

Just outside the door, the air snapped and crackled, like in a thunderstorm.

Fenris wrenched his sword out of the oaken frame, sending splinters flying in all directions as an arcane horror stepped out of the Fade and onto the landing.

"Of course, you always save the best for last, don't you?" Danal muttered as it focused on him and the elf. Beyond it, the howl of a rage demon and the shriek of shades meant they couldn't expect any help from the others.

"He must have sacrificed one of his apprentices," Fenris said, his gaze locked on the horror as he eased back beside Danal.

"Any suggestions?"

"Don't die."

"That's not-" Danal dove to his right, narrowly avoiding an ice bolt that shattered on the wall behind him. "-very helpful," he finished, gaining his feet.

Lightning arced through the air beyond the door and Danal heard the howl of a rage demon coming from below the stairs.

Fenris darted forward, his form going translucent. Danal moved in tandem. Both men had taken only a single step when a wall of force slammed them both back against the far wall. For a moment, all Danal saw were stars, bright blue and red, shimmering before his eyes, then he saw nothing at all.


	8. What are Friends For?

_Apologies for the delay in posting this. Went on a mini-vacation last weekend, and taking another next weekend. So, Ch. 9 will be up the second weekend in Sept. In the meantime, enjoy! And thanks for reading this._

* * *

Fenris shook his head, his ears still ringing from the impact. These cursed markings gave him some resistance to magic, enough to blunt the force of the creature's stun spell. He spared the human a quick glance. The man lay so still, but his chest rose and fell. Fenris felt oddly relieved at that. Pushing the feeling aside he phased all the way into ghost form, then charged forward, his blade held cross-wise to his body. The arcane horror hissed as he plunged through it. Maker, he hated the feel of them, gritty and slimy at the same time, and stinking like rotted mold and dying flowers.

It turned, following him, its arms rising. Good.

Along the glowing lyrium lines etched into his flesh, he felt it gather its power. Felt the gathering of another magic, like a warm breeze across the back of his neck. He realized with a start it was Bethany's as she shifted into his line of vision, her staff glowing. He pivoted out of the way when she released her spell, a stun that sent the horror reeling. Darting forward, he sheared through its left arm, the limb shattering like brittle sticks. It howled, plunging past him and down the stairs towards the front door, three shade demons following, then surrounding it. Two shades stood between him and the bottom of the stairs. In two breaths, they were dead.

He sensed Bethany trailing him, saw Isabella and Varric fighting a rage demon on the other side of the room.

The stink of air charged by lightning spells filled his nose. But where was Anders?

"Die, foul creatures," the other mage called out taking down one of the three remaining shades with a lightning spell. His voice had an odd timbre, echoing in the high ceiling room and his eyes glowed blue-white with magic drawn directly from the Fade.

"Abomination," Fenris whispered, phasing back into solid form.

Bethany's warm hand on his shoulder startled him. "No, he's not. It's Justice…a Fade spirit. Look, there's no time to explain. Trust me."

Trust a mage? He felt his mouth curling into a snarl.

The rage demon broke free from Isabella, then sent her tumbling before it went boiling towards Bethany. Fenris shoved her out of the way, pivoted, and took the creature's head.

Lightning spat out again from the abomination's fingers at another shade. Demon fighting demon? He'd never heard of such a thing.

Suddenly, Fenris felt the hot slice of claws down his back. Then he went flying, his grip on his sword loosening. He slammed into the wall at the base of the stairs and his weapon dropped to the floor.

Rage surged up. To die here? Now? Slaughtered by one of Danarius' pets? Anger lent him strength. He twisted around, grabbing up his sword as he turned just in time to see Danal bury both his long daggers in the shade's back. It dissolved in a howling shriek that shattered the stained glass window above the door.

"Did you miss me?" the human said, grinning.

That lopsided grin never faltered when Fenris shouted. "Behind you!"

The human whirled, like the swirl of a fine silk robe, his daggers sliding deep into the last shade. It died writhing on his blades.

Fenris raised his sword, started phasing, then stumbled to his knees. The wounds on his back burned to the bone. Gritting his teeth, he shoved himself to his feet, his hand closing around his sword's hilt, feeling his blood trickling down his back. He'd fought through battles with worse. But then Bethany was there, tugging at him.

"No, you'll tear them deeper if you fight."

He shook his head. She tugged harder, muttering something about him being as stubborn as 'Dani.' It took him a moment to realize she meant her brother, and only another to see that the horror, surrounded by two humans, a dwarf, and the abomination was almost dead.

Darkness surged in from the sides and threatened to take him so he didn't see the killing blow. But he heard it, and felt it in the icy shiver that passed through the lyrium markings embedded in his flesh. The last of Danarius' pets was dead, and that gave him a small measure of satisfaction.

Then a strong hand gripped his shoulder. "Fenris?"

Danal's voice. The elf looked up and clenched his jaw against the searing agony in his back. He shoved himself away from that hand, then stood there, wavering, dizzy. The back of his leggings felt wet. He must have lost more blood then he'd thought.

"I'm fine."

"Uh, huh. Why don't you just let Beth take a look at those claw wounds on your back and at least slow the bleeding before we get out of here? Unless you'd rather I'd sling you over my shoulder."

"Your head-"

"Trust me, it would take a lot more than being shoved against a wall to crack that thick skull of his," Beth said.

Danal laughed, then winced, rubbing the back of his head. "We need to leave before the guard shows up. I'm surprised they're not here yet. And the templars will be right behind them, if they're not on their way already. Between what Danarius left behind and the spell slinging going on we might as well have lit a bonfire directing them here."

Fenris waved a hand in the direction of the bedroom. "Whatever Danarius left…claim it if you wish. I…need to get out of here."

He stumbled forward, avoiding Beth's hands and that…abomination. _Venhedis_, what had he allied himself with? How could Danal Hawke not see the danger he held so close to him?

"Sweet thing, you're going to fall on your face," Isabella said, slipping an arm around his hips and pulling him against her side.

Instinct jerked him away, but the Rivaini was stronger than she looked. He gritted his teeth and gripped her shoulder, knowing she was right.

"That's good, one foot in front of the other," she said close to his ear as she guided him to the front door.

"I know how to walk."

Soft laughter greeted his response. "I'm sure you know a lot of things."

Bethany hovered close, looking anxious, as if she actually cared about what happened to him.

Once outside the cool night air helped clear his head, and clear the stink of demons and old blood out of his nose. He staggered away from Isabella and slumped against the polished limestone wall of the narrow porch. Starting at the feel of Bethany's warm hands on his back, he pushed down the almost instinctive reaction to shy away. He endured her touch. Magic had its uses, and she _was_ skilled. The energy soaked in, slowing then stopping the trickle of blood from his wounds.

The front door squeaked open.

"I stopped the bleeding, but I need to clean these wounds before I close them up," Bethany said.

"Varric?" Danal's voice.

The dwarf sighed as he slung a small bag over his shoulder. It clinked, probably from the trinkets Danarius had abandoned.

"Yes, you can use my rooms. I swear, Hawke, I'm going to start charging you rent. You spend more time at my place than your own."

"I don't think the Hanged Man is going to let you rent your rooms out with you still in them."

The dwarf chuckled. "All depends on how you write the contract. I'm sure Corff wouldn't object-"

Fenris shoved away from the wall, then staggered down the street in what he hoped was the right direction. Their banter was pointless.

They weren't even a block from the mansion when the distant clang of metal shod boots pounding against stone sounded off on the left.

"Damn, looks like the templars have first call this time," Danal said.

Before Fenris could protest he scooped up the elf, draping him over his shoulder, then jogged into a side alley. Bethany and Anders darted in front of them, the sound of their running footsteps disappearing into the night. The elf hissed in pain from the sudden movement of being hauled over the human's shoulder, though the man quickly settled to a smooth stride that devoured distance, his arm firmly locked around the elf's legs. Fenris clenched his teeth, nothing to do but endure the indignity of being carried like a sack of grain, pain slicing through his back with every footfall.

Focused on staying conscious, he was only dimly aware of the twisting path they took to Lowtown. He looked up when they came to the stairs, watching them rise above him as Danal descended. The shadows collected at the edges blurred and shifted in the flickering torchlight. After passing through several narrow alleys and sharp turns after they reached the bottom, the human eased him off his shoulder in a narrow alley just across from the Hanged Man. It stank, like every alley in Lowtown. Of what, it was best not to think of.

One hand clutching at the rough stone wall, Fenris managed to stay on his feet.

Isabella slipped in front, tugged at the front of her tunic, then smoothed back a strand of hair. She'd already wiped most of the demon ichor off her face.

"Catch you inside, Hawke," she said, giving Fenris a wink before she sauntered off. As if she were out for a casual stroll and not returning from half a night spent slaughtering demons. Bethany and Anders were nowhere to be seen.

"Sorry about that," Danal said, motioning to Fenris. "But the templars here in Kirkwall are more…well, 'dedicated' than others I've seen elsewhere. They detain everyone for investigation and questioning they round up at a magical disturbance…sometimes for weeks. I'm not sure what they'd do with you."

"I'm not a mage."

The human leaned back against the wall. "No, you're not. But, magically – whatever it is that you do - you light up like a beacon when you do it." He ran a hand over his face. "And did I just say that?"

"Yes. Yes, you did, Hawke," Varric said.

Danal sighed. "What I'm trying to say is that the templars might decide you're a living magical artifact and lock you up like they do some of the non-living ones."

That notion hadn't occurred to Fenris, mostly because templars had never bothered him in the past. Still, he hadn't had much contact with them, either.

In the distance, the chantry bell chimed the hour. The moon had long since set, and the stars were starting to fade from the sky. Dawn wasn't far off.

Varric glanced out at the empty space in front of the Hanged Man. "Let's discuss politics later, shall we, Hawke? Right now, we need to get inside before the guard swings by and starts asking questions."

Fenris shoved away from the wall and almost fell on his face. Then the human's strong arm slipped around his shoulders, his grip just strong enough to keep the elf from falling over. _Venhedis,_ he'd been touched more in the last few hours than the last year. This close to the human, the elf smelled blood, sweat, and a not unpleasant musk. This close, he felt soft black hair brush his ear tip as the wind shifted. He caught the faintest scent of lemongrass. This close to this man was not unpleasant at all.

At first, he thought the human's wavering step was simply to match his, to pass them off as two drunks making their way to one last round as they stumbled through the front door of the tavern. Danal hugged the thick shadows along the wall, where the light from the tavern owner's single lamp didn't reach. At this hour only Corff was in the common room, stacking mugs, though whether he was at the end of his day or the beginning Fenris couldn't say. Corff glanced at them as they wavered past, shrugged, then returned to his work.

Halfway up the short flight of steps to the second floor, Danal stumbled, grabbing for the handrail.

Varric paused, turning back towards them. "Hawke?"

"I'm fine."

Varric moved down to the human's right side, then slid an arm around his waist. "Of course you are. That's why you look like you're going to pass out on my doorstep."

Fortunately, the dwarf's rooms were just around the corner at the top of the stairs.

Bethany and Anders were already there, bowls of steaming water, labeled bottles, and a stack of clean linen cloths laid out on a broad oak table. Isabella crouched by the fireplace, feeding wood into a small fire.

Fenris had just set a foot into the room when Bethany handed him a warm mug of something.

"It will make healing the wounds on your back easier if you drink it," she said to his dubious look. Sheer contrariness coupled with irritation from all the touching prompted him to refuse. Why make a mage's life easier? Whey make his own life harder, a corner of his mind whispered. So he downed the contents in one long pull.

The world quickly faded into a blur of hands removing his armor and stripping him down to just his leggings, then laying him on a padded surface. A table? No, he felt cool sheets beneath his cheek, smelled lavender and rosemary.

He closed his eyes as someone cut away the padded tunic he wore under his chest armor. Warm water trickled across his back, probably to soak off the scraps glued by blood to his skin. Voices drifted over him. One of them sounded like Bethany fussing over her brother and 'that thick skull of his,' and something about 'what had he been thinking of running like that with those bruised ribs.'

"Maker, would you look at that," Anders said, then laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. The abomination was touching him? Fenris wanted to jerk away. But it felt so good to just lie here, to drift deeper into the warm haze that surrounded him. He'd been running so long he'd almost forgotten what it was like to be somewhere…safe. A memory teased at edge of his mind, falling away in the same moment he became aware of it stirring. Not the first time that had happened. He'd learned to ignore it.

Healing energy, warm and soft as a spring breeze, seeped into his flesh.

"Yes, just like that," he heard Anders murmur. "I'll take the other side."

Fenris drifted while the mages worked on his back.

"Maker, the wounds are already closed along those lines," he heard Anders whisper. "This will go faster than I thought."

Fenris cracked an eye and found Danal Hawke, stripped to the waist, standing in front of Varric's fireplace, grimacing as he pressed a wet cloth to the deep purple bruise that covered more than half of his left side. Well-muscled, sleek, the human was a handsome man. In the soft firelight, his black hair shimmered like fine silk. The elf grimaced as desire, unexpected, stirred in his groin. Then stirred deeper when he remembered the feel of the man pressed against his side, that strong arm wrapped around his shoulders. A growl sounded deep in his throat. _Venhedis, I don't need this._

"I'm sorry," Bethany said. "But this gash is almost to the bone."

"No, it's not-" _Vasta vass, why do I care what a mage thinks? _"It's nothing."

He closed his eyes, shutting out the sight of Danal Hawke. He focused on the feel of his flesh knitting back together under skilled hands and the surge of lust gradually faded. Between the healing and the aid rendered in clearing the demons out of the mansion he owed this man a debt, even if Danarius had been gone. Better to pay it off, one less hold on him…by anyone. Fenris tallied the coins in his small purse. Not enough, not near enough, but it was a start.

"All right, that should do it," Bethany said. Anders moved over to the table and started tidying up.

Opening his eyes, the elf found Danal Hawke slumped in the overstuffed chair near the bed. Fortunately, he'd pulled on a shirt. That lopsided grin he'd seen the human wearing in battle appeared.

"Feeling better?" Fenris grunted and pushed up to sitting, swinging his legs over the side of the dwarf's bed. The human straightened. "I'll take that as a yes."

Dark brown those eyes, like chestnuts, and deep. Eyes he could get lost in. Fenris glanced away, acutely aware he was half-naked in front of this man.

"Here," Varric said, tossing him a soft linen shirt. "You can borrow one of mine."

Fenris nodded and pulled it on, wincing a little as he stretched. He reached for the coin purse on his belt. Danal shook his head.

"Like I said, to get rid of slavers…I'd do that for free. Besides, you're going to need it to get your armor repaired." He picked up the cuirass lying on the floor and held it out. "The cuts are clean, at least. And I know a good armorer who won't cheat you."

The elf turned it over to examine the back. "Do you use him often?" He glanced up, wondering why he was falling into banter with this man.

Danal laughed. "Often enough."

"I still owe you a debt. If ever you need assistance, I would gladly render it."

Those dark eyes studied him. "I know you don't like mages. But can you work with them?"

_No._ But he swallowed the word. "If need be. But know that I _will _keep an eye on them."

The human didn't miss Fenris' quick glance at his sister in the other room, busy helping Anders pack up the supplies on the table into a large basket.

"Like I said, Bethany is a lot stronger than you think."

And he was very protective of her, so Fenris just nodded.

Danal's eyes flicked over him, and he remembered the human had seen the lyrium markings swirling over his chest and back when the two mages healed him.

"If I may ask, why is Danarius so keen on retrieving you…beyond the obvious?"

Fenris raised an arm, and the sleeve fell back, revealing the twining markings on his forearm. "These marks are made from lyrium, burned into my skin and my soul. Danarius wants to retrieve his 'investment', even if he has to rip the flesh from my corpse."

"Seems like a waste of a perfectly handsome elf.'

For a moment, Fenris just stared. For a moment, Danal stared back. Then the elf chuckled, or tried to, covering his unease with a cough while Danal looked away, rubbing the back of his neck, a faint flush on his cheeks.

"Umm, look, it's been a long night… a really long night. Why don't you get some rest? We can talk later about…things."

"Things?"

Danal waved a hand. "You know. Jobs…and the like."

Fenris nodded. "If you need me, you can find me in Danarius' mansion."

"Ah, you might want to reconsider that. The templars and the city guards are probably swarming all over the place by now."

"If Danarius wants it, let him come and claim it."

Danal smiled. "I understand, but give the guard a few days to clear out the bodies, and let the excitement die down. After that…"

It seemed a sensible request. "Very well."

Nodding, the human pushed himself to his feet. "Well, Beth and I need to get home. Or Varric is going to start charging us rent."

"I'll take payment in ale, Hawke."

The human laughed; something that seemed to come easy to him, until you noticed the shadows in his eyes. Or maybe that was just a trick of the light because they were so dark. He glided over to the table just as Anders finished putting the last of the bandages in the basket.

Fenris pushed up to standing to test his legs. Good, it didn't feel like he was going to fall face down with the first step. He slipped into the dwarf's small receiving room and found the rest of his gear neatly piled on a large trunk, his sword cradled in a stand near an overflowing bookcase.

"Anyone needs me, I'll be at my clinic." Anders sighed. "Probably a line a league long outside my door by now."

Fenris frowned at the apostate's back as he slipped out the door. Clinic?

"Next game of Wicked Grace, the first round's on me," Danal said.

Varric settled in a chair by the fireplace. "Smart move, paying up before Isabella cleans you out."

"So the next round will still be on me."

Isabella laughed, and drained her mug, then rose from her seat at the heavy oak table.

"Well, I would say it's been fun, Hawke, but it wasn't." She shook her head. "I hate demons." Then she sauntered up and kissed him on the cheek, a chaste one considering she was almost falling out of her tunic. "Catch you boys later tonight. And save me one of those jeweled daggers for my cut. I could use something shiny after that fight," she called out over her shoulder as she headed for the door, then disappeared around the right corner. Apparently, she had a room here as well.

"Should be safe enough to head back home now." Fenris' right brow arched. Templars will be done with their patrol through the section of Lowtown we live in around this time," Danal said to the elf's puzzled look. "If they were smart, they'd vary the timing of their routes, but they never do."

"Maybe you could suggest it?" Fenris said.

Bethany looked startled, then angry.

Varric laughed. "Did you just make a joke?"

"I don't joke."

Danal smiled. "Uh, huh." Then he turned to the dwarf. "I assume you're going to use the usual fences." Varric nodded. "Just save out a toy for Isabella."

His hand brushed his sisters, a tender gesture that stirred something in the elf. He shrugged it away.

"C'mon, Beth, time we headed home." She just nodded, looking only very tired now as she slipped her hand through her brother's arm and leaned on him as they turned for home. Leaning against each, the elf realized as he closed the door behind them.

Varric appeared next to him holding a fluffy pillow and a light blanket. "Feel free to use my couch, elf. " He waved at a plush looking sofa off to the right. "There's a bath house out back that opens about mid-day. Tell Corff you're my guest, and have him put it on my tab."

Fenris accepted the bedding. "You don't have to do that."

Varric, already turning to his bedroom, waved a hand. "Consider it partial payment for help in cleaning out those demons." Then he disappeared inside his room, closing the door behind him.

Fenris stood there a moment, gazing into the small fire dying down behind the wrought iron grate. Danal Hawk didn't know him, yet had offered his help because he 'hated slavers.' All his companions, even Isabella, had come to his assistance. Only one night of fighting with them and they treated Fenris as one of their own, healing his wounds without asking for any coin, giving him a place to sleep, offering payment – even if it was just a bath.

He had yet to slay the tiger. But a man could face danger in worse company he supposed as he settled on the dwarf's couch.

His back itched a little and while still tender, the muscles felt whole and strong. And the lyrium in his skin prevented scarring, a side benefit that had even surprised Danarius.

Fenris rolled to his side, putting aside thoughts of the magister and revenge, but only for now. Danarius would resume the hunt someday. And when he did…

Fenris was still smiling as he drifted into sleep.


	9. Dream a Little Dream

One advantage of being exhausted was that it had made it easy for Danal to fall asleep even with Uncle snoring loud enough to jostle the dead. He woke briefly to Gamlen cursing about where his 'blasted nephew' had dropped his boots and his shirt - in front of the door - then stayed awake long enough to hear his boots bouncing off of the back wall before Uncle stomped out of the room.

Danal pulled the light blanket over his head and drifted back to sleep, quickly falling into a dream in which he wandered through Danarius' empty mansion. The corpses were gone, though traces of blood remained, spotting the fine oak floor between fragments of broken furniture. Chairs and tables had been piled as barricades in front of the doors, probably by the men the magister had sacrificed. Shoved aside and broken by the demons as they'd rampaged through the house, feasting on the blood Danarius had provided before he chained them into his traps.

He shuddered and made his way to the kitchen where he found Fenris, stripped to the waist, washing his hands in a large bowl of water on the table. Behind him, on the stove, a large cast iron pot simmered. The smell of onions, garlic, fennel, and stewing chicken drifted past Danal's nose.

He paused in the doorway, the dream elf seemingly oblivious to his hungry gaze. Maker knows, Leandra had tried to instill some sense of decorum into her son, like not staring at half-naked people washing up in the kitchen. But the man was…striking …with that moon-white hair and moss green eyes. More than those, something in his bearing caught at the human, the way he tilted his head just slightly to the right when he studied you…or maybe it was the graceful interlace of bone-white lyrium lines that wandered over his tawny skin, curving around his neck and up into his hairline. His pants rode low, and the pattern on his muscled stomach clearly continued downward, probably wrapping around his hips and-

"Are you hungry?"

Danal's head jerked up. Fenris smiled at him, the way he had in the alienage. Danal swallowed. His pants felt tight. And yes…he was hungry.

In the way of dreams, in the next breath he felt the elf in his arms, his skin smooth and so warm beneath the human's hands. Soft lips pressed against his then parted, the tease of a tongue exploring his mouth, strong arms twining around his neck, the hot hard need of another man sliding against his own in the rhythmic rolling of hip against hip. Oh, Maker, it had been so bloody long. And now he had a feast to savor. Small sharp teeth nipped at his lower lip as a hand slid down his stomach and dipped inside his pants. He moaned as warm fingers curled around his cock, then gently squeezed.

"Dani," the elf whispered in his ear, his tongue trailing around the outer edge.

_Wait...what?_

"Dani, wake up," Beth said, gently shaking his shoulder.

"Hmph, what?" _Oh, Maker, Beth…and I was dreaming…oh, crap..._

He pulled the blanket off his head, and blinked sleepily, thankful he was lying on his stomach and had been too tired to strip down to small clothes before crawling into bed.

Beth squeezed his shoulder and leaned in closer. "Mother left dinner on the stove. Chicken stew. And…Aveline's here."

He groaned and buried his forehead in the blanket. "Let me guess. She wants to talk about last night."

"Hello, Hawke," Aveline said from her pose against the doorframe. "Seems someone put a dent in the gang population last night. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

"Just…give me a minute, all right?" He glanced up. Oh, Maker, he knew that smile. She wasn't going to be placated with a few well-fashioned half-truths she could pass off in a report, not this time. But she wasn't wearing her uniform, just a dark green tunic and black pants tucked into low black boots. So, not an official visit. "I promise, the full story. Just let me get…presentable."

She straightened and motioned to the room behind her. "Take your time. I'm not going anywhere."

After she turned away, Danal leaned in towards his sister and whispered. "Mother?"

"Viscount," Beth whispered back, then slipped out the door, closing it behind her.

Good, Mother would be gone till sixth bell trying to get an audience to petition for the return of her home, assuming she didn't get past the seneschal's secretary. How many weeks –make that months – had she been going? She was nothing, if not persistent. And better she was gone, so he wouldn't have to violate the unspoken agreement between her and her children that they wouldn't discuss what really happened on these 'jobs.'

Danal rolled over, then sat up, tossing the worn blanket to one side. He gazed down at his erection, thankfully starting to diminish. Maker, he _really_ needed a trip to the _Rose _if he was dreaming about fucking a former Tevinter slave. He grimaced. Taking on a high-ranking magister of the Imperium? What _had_ he been thinking? Probably just as well this Danarius had scurried off before they'd arrived he thought as he swung down to land lightly on the floor. Isabella had been right about that. He'd need a lot more than good intentions to take the man down. They'd been lucky last night.

His thoughts strayed back to Fenris while he pulled his spare set of clean clothes from the small wooden chest pushed against a wall. He frowned as he changed. Maker's balls, he didn't need this. A runaway slave with a pissed-off mage in pursuit was not someone he should be getting involved with right now. But that dream…He shook his head. It was _just _a dream brought on by too long a period of abstinence combined with meeting someone he found damn attractive. It wouldn't be the first time that had happened. But still…

Danal sighed as he pulled on a sleeveless tunic, then reached for his boots. That brief smile intrigued him, as if he'd been given a glimpse of something rare. However harsh the elf's past had been, a sense of integrity had survived. He believed he owed a debt and wanted to pay it. He was strong, skilled with that bastard sword of his, quick, disciplined, and smart enough to put aside personal feelings to work with people he didn't much care for. That combination of qualities made him an asset Danal could use, especially in the Deep Roads…if the elf was willing to accompany them. And if he was going to be part of Danal's decidedly mixed group, then it was best to keep their relationship strictly business. Life was complicated enough at the moment, what with dodging templars and not straying so far over the line that Aveline might be forced to arrest him. Speaking of which…

Laughter greeted him as he opened the door. Aveline glanced up and a smirk – a smirk? Yes, definitely a smirk – crossed her face when her eyes caught his. Bethany had one on her face, too. Oh, this was _not_ good. But neither woman said anything. His sister just served him a bowl of chicken stew from the chipped tureen when he settled in a chair.

Late afternoon sun slanted through the windows near the ceiling, glazing the opposite wall a pale gold. Uncle had complained about the cost of the white wash Danal had painted on all the walls. Maybe it had taken a good chunk of his first payment from Athenril, but at least he didn't feel like he was living in a cave anymore.

Aveline leaned back in her chair. Oh, Maker, he knew _that _look. "So, Hawke, tell me about the bodies from Sharp's gang my guards dragged out of the alienage last night. And you might want to explain about the eight Imperial slave hunters while you're at it."

"How did you know it was us…I mean me."

"For one thing, the kills were clean…and distinctive. I've fought with you enough times to recognize your favorite kill strikes." She pulled a bright red bolt out of the leather pouch slung over the back of her chair and laid it on the table. "Besides, I recognized Bianca's calling cards."

Danal shook his head. "I really need to talk to Varric about using more discrete ammunition."

Aveline shrugged. "No great loss, either of them. But someone must have been watching, then went to Sharp to tell him about what happened after you left. Took my guard the rest of the night to round up rampaging gang members. They won't be going anywhere for a long while."

Well, that explained why no guards had showed up at Danarius' mansion last night. He wondered if she knew what had happened there. Aveline never did like to lay all her cards on the table at the same time unless she had to.

She leaned back, her finger tapping the side of her bowl. "I _am _curious as to why Tevinter bounty hunters showed up at the same location."

"You found an empty chest there, right? Fancy scrollwork, gilded?" Aveline nodded. "It was bait for an escaped Tevinter slave. My guess is Sharp's gang was hired to 'guard' it.'" Danal said.

"Really?"

"Really. Look, it's kind of….complicated."

The Captain of the guard sighed. "When it involves you, it usually is. Why don't you tell me all about it at the Hanged Man after dinner? You owe me a drink or two anyway, Hawke."

###

Aveline tilted her head. "A tattooed elf with white hair? I have a few reports on him, leftovers from when Jeven was Captain. Not that the elf caused trouble, but someone was asking about him."

"Those reports mention who?" Danal asked. Aveline shook her head.

"That makes Fenris a free man now, doesn't it?" Danal said, an edge in his voice. Bethany pretended to study the dregs of ale in her cup. Isabella fingered the pommel of her shiny new toy, her cinnamon eyes flicking back and forth between the two of them.

The guard captain shrugged. "Last I heard slavery's still illegal in Kirkwall."

Danal nodded, and felt some of the tension ease out of him. He would have trusted Aveline the guard to look the other way, but Aveline the Captain had to navigate a fine line of neutrality through Kirkwall's politics. If this Danarius was as influential as Fenris had implied, someone in the city's ruling elite might decide that returning his lost 'property' would be a good political move. Aveline's statement told Danal no one would be finding out about the elf from her.

He picked up the pitcher and nodded at her empty cup. She held out her mug.

"Just hope I don't see another night like last one for a while. Between the gang riot and that disturbance in High Town…" She shook her head, then threw Danal a shrewd look.

"Earning your pay?" he asked with a bland smile. Beth glanced up, trying to catch his eye. He knew she didn't want him to push. And he didn't intend to, but he wasn't sure how much he should tell Aveline, not that he didn't trust her. He didn't trust seneschal Bran who she had to report to on guard matters.

Aveline shrugged. "Something like that. Templars were all over an abandoned mansion in High Town last night. Claimed they'd scented magic being conducted. Refused to let my guards in to investigate the disturbances the neighbors reported until I showed up."

Danal started laughing, and even Isabella gave him an odd look.

"Murder isn't a laughing matter, Hawke," Aveline said, slamming her mug on the table before he could re-fill it.

He leaned forward, matching her stare, every trace of humor in him gone. "Then maybe the templars should have gotten there when those hired guards were being slaughtered by a Tevinter blood mage. That place was infested with demons."

The lines of her body relaxed as he told her what they had fought in the mansion, though not the exact reason Fenris had been so intent on gaining entrance, or about his more exotic fighting style. Danal told her only that the elf had gone there looking for answers, which wasn't too far from the truth. Aveline didn't need to know Fenris had wanted his answers written in Danarius' blood. Maybe after –long after - the debris from that night had settled, Danal would tell her the full story. And why it would probably be wise not to let anything slip to the templars about the elf's lyrium enhanced abilities.

When he finished talking, Aveline stared into her cup for a long moment, then she sighed.

"Maker, I could use another pitcher."

"So could I," Varric said, rising, then heading for his door.

"Make it two. And throw in a bottle of whiskey while you're at it," Isabella added, tossing the dwarf a sovereign he plucked out of the air.

"As if we didn't have enough blood mages of our own, now they're coming from Tevinter," Aveline said, then tilted her head at Danal. "Any idea who he was?"

For a moment, Danal entertained the notion of lying. But Maker knew he needed her on his side…considering the shady jobs he took to keep food on the table, let alone to gather coin for the Deep Roads. Besides, Aveline was his friend…and more than that, in many ways.

He shrugged. "His name is Danarius. And other than that I don't know anything about him."

"Does this Fenris?"

_Damn, Aveline, why did you have to ask that?_ It was a reasonable question he couldn't wiggle out of.

"Does it matter?" Varric said, returning with two foaming pitchers, and Isabella's whiskey tucked under his arm. "Last I heard Kirkwall doesn't have any kind of extradition treaty with Tevinter. Even if they did, he's a magister." He set the pitchers of ale on the table, then the bottle beside them.

. _Thank you, Varric, _Danal thought, sipping his drink.

"I suppose not," Aveline conceded. "Though, it seems a damn shame, letting a suspected murderer walk free."

"He won't be the first," Varric murmured.

Aveline reached for a pitcher. "Don't bloody remind me."

Talk drifted to other topics. And if Aveline didn't notice how Varric steered it away from the events of last night and questions that might lead her to probing Fenris' motivations for seeking out Danarius, Danal did…and deeply appreciated it.

The five of them polished off both pitchers, then ordered two more along with a plate of fried cheese cubes, toasted bread, and some of those spicy sausages Isabella was so fond of.

When Aveline popped the last cheese cube into her mouth, Beth leaned forward, her cheeks slightly flushed from drinking. Danal didn't pay much attention to the story she was telling, something from when they lived in Lothering. Thoughts of Fenris occupied his ale-sodden brain at the moment, in particular that silver white hair and moss green eyes framed by black brows. At first, he'd thought the elf had bleached his hair to disguise his appearance, but it was white to the roots, and soft looking, not coarse and dry like other bleached hair he'd seen. Remembering the lean, sinuous lines of his body, the human sighed very softly in the back of his throat. Fenris had the sculpted muscles of a dancer. He moved like one, too, sure and strong. And damn, the man had a nice-

"'-a perfectly handsome elf'," Beth said.

Danal started. _Wait…what? Oh, Maker's balls. _Blood heated his cheeks.

Aveline laughed. "Hawke really said that?"

Varric waved his mug. "Dwarf's honor."

"Oh, yes, Dani does tend to let things pop out."

He scrunched down in his chair. _Thank you for that, sister of mine. _

Aveline's green eyes flicked in his direction. "And he didn't punch you in the nose?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "No."

"They both turned the loveliest shade of pink," Isabella said, then propped her chin on her hand, smiling at him. "It was…adorable."

Trying to sit up straight, Danal mustered what dignity he could. "Men are not…adorable."

The pirate chuckled and reached for her whiskey, then raised her glass.

"To pretty men…and the men who love them."

She glanced at Beth and Aveline, both grinning, who held up their drinks, then all three women descended into peals of laughter at the expression on Danal's face.

He scrunched back down in his chair.

Isabella stopped laughing long enough to knock back her whiskey. "Don't tell me you wouldn't have rolled him last night given half a chance. You were admiring his ass often enough …between bouts of demon fighting."

He felt the blood rising further in his cheeks. "I don't mix business and pleasure," Danal muttered, not looking at her.

The Rivaini leaned forward. Beside him, Danal heard Varric sigh very softly at the sight of so much cleavage.

"Sometimes, the _only _thing that makes business tolerable _is_ to mix it with pleasure." She leaned back, a smirk plastered across her face.

Danal reached for a pitcher, ignoring the whispering between Beth and Aveline. He didn't have to hear them to know what they were talking about. Why did women find it so fascinating to talk about…such things? You either fancied someone or you didn't. What was there to discuss?

Isabella patted his hand, and Danal glanced up. She looked serious. Well, as serious as she could after half-a-night of drinking.

"Tell you what, sweet thing, you can have first call on him. He's not interested in your manly charms, send him my way."

He almost told her she could go ahead and make a play for the elf. Then he remembered the feel of his arm cradled in Fenris' hand, the strength in those fingers, and the warmth of his palm. He wanted to feel that again, feel the man's lips brushing his skin. He squelched the image before his body could betray his thoughts.

"Why so generous?" It wasn't like Isabella to turn down an opportunity to entice someone new into her bed.

She shrugged. "It's not like I've never had an elf before."

Maybe it was that simple. He tried to think of other possibilities, but his thoughts blurred together, all falling into pleasant images of the elf in his arms, and in his bed. Danal sighed and rubbed the side of his head. It's not like Fenris didn't seem to be interested, based on those quick sideways glances the elf had given him while Beth had healed his arm. Maybe Isabella had spotted those looks, too. And as Aveline had so delicately put it, the man hadn't 'punched him in the nose' when Danal had flirted with him. (And what had he been thinking when he'd done that?) Maker's balls, he didn't need to get entangled with someone just now.

He downed the remains of his drink. He ruminated like this because he was a little short of halfway drunk. Not a good place to be for him, where his thoughts tangled and chased one another like a kitten chasing its tail. He reached for the pitcher. Might as well go all the way and leave this sorry state behind. Fortunately, it didn't take long.


	10. Fenris Makes Himself at Home

_Apologies for the delay in updating this. Real life intervened, and I wasn't satisfied with the original ending to this chapter. Many thanks to those who've added this (and me!) to favorites and alerts. Your support is much appreciated. Enjoy! Reviews and random thoughts are always welcome._

* * *

Over a week since the bounty hunters Danarius had sent after him had been slain, and templars still swarmed around and inside the magister's borrowed mansion. Did they really expect to find anything that might lead them to Danarius? Fenris watched from his crouch in the narrow alley across the street. Wearing a dusty grey cloak with the hood pulled up helped him blend with the shadows cast by the wide eaves. If any glanced this way, the sun would be in their eyes, hopefully making him harder to spot.

His hand closed around his purse, holding almost two sovereigns worth of silver. Danal Hawke had insisted he take a share of the coin Varric had gotten from fencing the few trinkets Danarius had abandoned. Fenris would have refused, but the repairs to his armor had taken most of the coin he had left, even though the armorer's price had been fair.

Two templars emerged and took up watchful positions on either side of the front door. No matter what time of the day or night Fenris had checked, the templars had been here. The elf shifted on the balls of his feet. _Venhedis_, would they never be done? Anything that might have been used to trace the magister was in the hands of Varric's fence. Not that much of value had been left behind, at least in the way of baubles. Danarius hungered for power, for control. Wealth held little allure for him beyond the status it could buy in the form of expensive wines and other such luxuries by which the Tevinter nobility judged one another.

The chantry bells chimed the third hour after mid-day before the lieutenant in charge of today's search team exited the mansion, trailed by half-a-dozen men and women.

"Lieutenant, don't you think one more sweep would-"a female templar started to say.

The officer turned abruptly, his hand on his sword hilt. "No, we've been through this bloody mansion from attic to root cellar over a dozen times. Besides, whatever magic traces that maleficar left dissipated days ago."

"Sir, with all due respect, I don't like leaving this unfinished."

"Neither do I, but there's nothing here." He glanced at the mansion. "This place is the seneschal's problem now."

The templars formed up in two short lines of three, headed by the lieutenant, and marched off in the direction of the chantry. Thank the Maker, Fenris thought as he slipped out of the alley, then into the mansion using the key he'd retrieved off the dead slave hunter. He dropped his small pack by the door after closing it. The bodies were gone, though blood stains still marred the intricately inlaid tiles of the receiving room.

His soft-soled boots whispered against the floor as he inspected the rest of the first level. Someone had emptied the pantry, though the smell of bread and peaches lingered. Perhaps the templars had eaten them? He shrugged. It didn't matter. Cooking hadn't been one of the skills Danarius had required of him. When Fenris entered the bedroom the magister had probably claimed as his own, the elf's face darkened at the unexpected surge of memories of heated groping and forced passion the unmade bed roused.

He shoved open a window, then dragged the mattress and pillows off and threw them out the window, pausing long enough to watch the fine linen sheets tangle on a scattering of rose bushes right below the window. By the time he pivoted back to the bed, his sword was in his hands. What was one more piece of hacked furniture?

No, he thought, lowering his weapon, then sheathing it. He'd cut a path to freedom with this blade. He would not dishonor it.

In the back of the pantry, he retrieved the axe he'd spotted in his earlier explorations. He smiled. Yes, this would do quite well.

Danarius believed in buying the best quality he could afford. But even black cherry yielded easily to a determined elf with lyrium enhanced strength. After demolishing the intricately carved footboard, Fenris paused just long enough to pull off his gauntlets, cuirass, and the padded tunic he wore under it.

A breeze drifted through the windows, cooling the sweat beading on his skin and running down his spine. He wiped his brow with the back of his forearm as he eyed the remains of the fine bed. It would be the first thing he fed into the fire when winter came. The headboard quickly followed, joining the pile in the center of the room. He dropped the axe next to it, then stepped back. Fragments of polished wood gleamed in the late afternoon sun slanting through the windows. His belly rumbled. And he had coin in his purse, more than enough for a hot meal at the Hanged Man. After living off stale bread and cheese, and stolen fruit for the last week while he'd spied on the templars, even that tavern's excuse for cooking sounded appealing.

After retrieving his pack from the door, he slipped into the back courtyard, then stripped to skin near the well. He shivered as the cold water sluiced over his shoulders and down the back of his legs. But it felt good, scrubbing away the sweat and stray wood chips with a bit of clean rag. Would that he could wash away memories of what Danarius had done to him as easily. Fenris shoved them aside and continued his ablutions. Not having a towel, he squeezed the water out of his hair, then stood in a bright patch of sun, still warm despite the lateness of the day, though the shadows were cool.

He combed his hair with his fingers, making a point of not looking at the lyrium that curled around his flesh from his throat to the soles of his feet while the water evaporated off his body. He knew every twist and turn of these cursed markings, burned into his memory from the ritual. Every time he phased, he felt their seeping warmth, a false comfort caressing his skin.

Pulling his only spare tunic from his pack, he remembered the way Danal Hawke's eyes had brushed over them. Desire stirred, a tendril of heat coiling deep in his belly. It had been a long time since he'd felt that need rise, felt another tugging at his lust because _he _wanted them. He frowned as he pulled on tunic and leggings. Desire…complicated things. It had no place in the life of a slave running for his freedom. He was going to have to deal with it, though. He needed coin to live and he owed the man a debt.

He glanced down at his armor on the ground near his pack. While a number of people, including elves, carried blades of some type in Kirkwall, only the city guards usually walked around armored. Being less conspicuous might mean fewer people noticed him, making him harder to find, though Danarius had seemed to have little trouble locating him in the past.

After gathering up his few belongings, he deposited them in one of the side bedrooms. Smaller than Danarius', it overlooked a narrow side garden, sporting a few purple wildflowers and an abundance of weeds. He gazed down at it a moment, then closed the window before stowing his armor on a stand in the corner. A table and two plush chairs formed a small sitting area in front of the fireplace. The templars had pulled the mattress and pillows off the bed, emptied the two chests and wardrobe, scattering several pairs of plain dark trousers and tunics - too large for him - the kind a hired sword might wear under armor. But other than that, the furniture was intact. Fenris supposed the room was…cozy. It seemed to have escaped the demon infestation in the rest of the mansion. He'd have a comfortable place to sleep, at least, he thought as he pulled the mattress back on the bed, tossing the pillows on almost as an afterthought.

He buckled his sword on and picked up his cloak. Nights in Kirkwall this time of year were cool when the wind shifted in off the harbor after sundown.

His shadow stretched long before him when he stepped out the front door and headed for the stairs that led to Lowtown. People drifted past him, some casting second curious glances at the markings curving around the sides of his throat and curling over the back of his hands. But the nobles here, like those he'd seen elsewhere, were too well-bred to make obvious comments. And it didn't hurt that tattoos were common among all classes in this seaside city.

Halfway down the main set of broad steps that led to Lowtown, at the entrance to a narrow alley that snaked west down the hillside, he found Hawke crouched in front of a large brown dog. Was he talking to the beast? How odd. Bethany, her back to the elf, stood beside her brother. From her belt hung a short staff of stout oak about the length of Fenris' arm.

"Look we appreciate the…offer, but I think you could do better," Fenris heard Danal say as he drew near.

The elf frowned. _A mabari. But what is it doing here?_

The dog whuffed and shook its head. Thick scars marred the animal's shoulders and though large, it looked thin and ill-fed. A soft mewling sound came from the squirming bundle cradled in the mage's hand.

Fenris' eyes widened, then narrowed. _A puppy? _

Bethany turned, looking pleased and troubled at the same time. "Oh, hello, Fenris."

Danal glanced up, then turned back to the dog. "You're sure about this?"

The dog whuffed again, then turned heavily and limped off down the alley. The puppy squirmed and whined softly, watching her till she disappeared around a litter-strewn curve.

"Shhh, it's all right, little one," the mage said. "It will _be _all right." The creature licked her hand and Bethany smiled, making soft soothing sounds as she stroked its head.

Danal rubbed the back of his neck and rose. "Well, that was…interesting." He glanced down the alley, then back at his sister.

"Seems like we've got a new addition to the family."

"Uncle Gamlen will be so thrilled," the mage said, then sighed.

The elf frowned. "I don't understand."

Danal shrugged. "I'm not sure I do, either." He glanced down at his right forearm, and only then did Fenris notice the round red indentations near his wrist. "But she was quite…insistent. I thought they had to be older before they imprinted."

"It seems not," Fenris said, eyeing the small brown bundle in Bethany's hands. Though why the dog had chosen a _mage_ was a mystery. Surely it could have found someone more…appropriate.

"We were on our way to the Hanged Man to get fleeced by Isabella," Danal said. "You're welcome to join us."

Fenris glanced up, one finely arched brow rising. "Fleeced?"

The human waved a hand. "Weekly game of Wicked Grace."

"I'm familiar with the game."

Danal nodded. "Good. Though, we should probably drop this little one off at home before we settle in."

The mage looked up, her eyes flashing. "And leave her alone with Uncle Gamlen? I don't think so. He'd lose her in a wager."

"Well, Mother-"

"Always said if it followed you home, _you _cantake care of it."

Danal laughed and threw up his hands. "All right, she comes with us." He smiled and caressed a spot on the top of the puppy's head. "She's probably hungry. Let's hope what passes for food at the Hanged Man doesn't kill her."

"She's going to need a name," Bethany murmured as they turned and headed down the steps.

"Spot?"

Bethany made a face, then a flicker of sorrow passed through her eyes. "Carver wasn't very good with naming things, was he?"

Danal sighed. "No, but he did have a knack for finding strays, didn't he?"

"Maybe that's because-" Bethany glanced back at Fenris, then shook her head. "Well, I'm sure we'll think of something."

_Who is Carver? _Fenris wondered as he trailed them down the steps. Why did the mention of him make Bethany sad? _Why do I care?_

Fenris was still wrestling with the uncomfortable notion of concern for anything a mage might feel as they stepped into the small square in front of the Hanged Man.

A man, missing half an ear, lounging against the wall beside the tavern's sign, scowled at them as they crossed the cracked paving stones. Unexpectedly agile, he glided in front of them, his hand moving towards his dagger. Danal's was in his hand, held so that the tip pointed at his shoulder, before the stranger had even pulled his blade halfway out of its sheath.

Even after fighting beside him, the human's speed still took the elf by surprise. _If I didn't know better, I'd think his reflexes were enhanced, but he doesn't smell like magic._

"Blight's over, Fereldan." Half-ear flicked his blade in the mage's direction. "Time you left and took your mangy mongrel with you."

Bethany flushed and Fenris felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise as her magic stirred.

Danal smiled, like the Fog Warriors had when anticipating a fine battle. "Beth, I think our uninvited guest just insulted the newest family member."

"Weren't talking 'bout the dog." The man cackled, and Fenris hand curved around the hilt of his sword.

Beth's flush deepened, and the puppy growled deep in her throat as the mage backed up, shifting behind her brother, then slightly to his left, bringing her almost shoulder to shoulder with the elf.

"Here, hold her for me, will you?" Bethany said, turning to Fenris. A lifetime of unquestioning obedience to command tones from a magister had him reaching out to accept the tiny burden. His hands had barely closed around the squirming bundle of fur when anger rose at his automatic response. He eyes narrowed.

"I'm not a-"

Fenris hopped back when he noted Danal's shift in posture, signaling the start of a spinning maneuver. The elf backed up further when Danal pivoted.

Half-ear's dagger flashed in the sun, blocking Danal's blade. The street tough grinned, and lunged forward, going for the throat. Danal skipped back, pivoting to his right. Half-ear followed, turning away from the mage who slipped behind him, her staff held in both hands.

Fenris scowled. _Here it comes. A mage's answer to every problem._

Instead of lashing out with her magic, Bethany reined it in, so tightly even Fenris with his heightened sensitivity couldn't feel it along the lyrium lines burned into his skin.

A hard, precise hit to the back of the head and the human dropped to the ground, his eyes rolling up in his head, as his dagger clattered to the ground.

Danal scooped it up and tossed it into a side alley. He grinned at his sister. "Nice move, Beth."

She sighed, and hooked her staff back on her belt. "It's not like we don't get enough practice." Then she smiled, and held out her hands to the elf. The puppy yipped, her stumpy tail wagging furiously. Fenris handed her over, still angry over his unthinking response, but a life time of practice let him hide the feeling.

Bethany smiled at him. "Thank you, Fenris...for looking after her."

He waved a hand. "It was nothing." But a mage showing gratitude...for anything? _That _wasn't quite...nothing. His anger slowly faded into irritated puzzlement.

Danal stepped around the unconscious man and reached for the door.

"C'mon, time to get fleeced by Isabella."

"Does she always win against you?" Fenris asked.

Danal paused just inside the doorway and smiled "Often enough. Half the time she doesn't even have to cheat." He threw the elf a speculative look. "Maybe your being here will bring me luck."

Now there was a sobering thought, though meeting the human had certainly been lucky for the elf. An old Tevinter saying about fortune cautioned that the gods favored the strong. Fenris glanced back at the unconscious man lying on the ground behind him. Danal Hawke was strong, strong enough to leave a potential enemy alive.

Fenris turned back to follow them into the tavern. Bethany was strong, too. That realization squirmed into his thoughts as Danal's sister murmured soothing nonsense to the puppy.

The elf paused in the doorway a moment, watching them thread their way through the small crowd of early evening patrons. Of course, it could just have been the threat of being caught by the templars and sent to the Gallows that had made her refrain from using magic. Still...Kirkwall was far from Tevinter, and not just in terms of distance.

Fenris shrugged. Either way, Danal Hawke would have another pair of eyes to watch his back, the elf thought as he followed the pair up that stairs to Varric's suite. One could never have too many of those.


	11. A Place to Stand

_This chapter marks the end of a peek into the early days between Fenris and Hawke. Hope you've enjoyed this glimpse._

* * *

"What is…that?" Varric said, pointing at the squirming bundle in Bethany's hands.

Isabella glanced up from the deck of cards she was shuffling. Her face lit up as she dropped the cards on the table and pushed her chair back.

"Oh, he's adorable." She hurried over, her cinnamon eyes focused on the mabari.

Fenris glided out of her way, taking up a spot near the fireplace where Danal had also retreated.

"She," the mage corrected, glancing up and smiling.

"She's so cute," Isabella said, her hands sliding around the puppy, then deftly lifting her out of the mage's grasp. Fenris wasn't sure what to make of the soft cooing sounds coming from the Rivaini pirate. "Yes, you are. You're just the cutest little thing," she said, holding the puppy close to her face. The creature seemed to like it, wagging her stumpy tail hard enough to make her hindquarters wiggle back and forth.

Varric sidled up to Danal, and pitched his voice low. "What is it with women and little furry things?"

"Jealous?" Danal whispered back, grinning.

"Me? Jealous? When I have Bianca?"

"Don't take this wrong, but Bianca is kind of hard to cuddle with."

The dwarf placed a hand over his heart. "Hawke, you wound me."

Isabella, still holding the puppy, glanced over at the three men. "Tell me, Hawke, wherever did you find her?"

"More like her mother found us…or Beth, actually." He glanced down at his forearm, where the mother's teeth marks were just starting to fade. "She was quite…insistent."

"This sounds like an interesting story," Varric said.

"Not really. She popped out of an alley, dropped the puppy at Beth's feet, then latched onto my arm till we agreed to take her little one."

The dwarf laid a hand over his heart and sighed dramatically. "Hawke, all this time in my company and you _still_ haven't developed an ear for a story? Where did she come from? Out of all the people in this city, why you two? What happened to the others in the litter? Were they-"

Danal threw up a hand, laughing. "All right." This human smiled so easily, Fenris thought. "Feel free to make up what you want. You will anyway."

The dwarf grinned and shook his head. "Details, _messere_, first, I need details. Best discussed over a pitcher or two of ale."

"And a plate or two of those spicy sausages." Isabella called out as Varric headed for the door. He turned and bowed, then headed down the stairs.

Fenris glanced back at the two women, heads close together as they fussed over the puppy.

"What…is that?" a voice Fenris couldn't quite place said behind them.

"I think there's an echo in here," Danal murmured to Fenris, who - to his surprise- found himself smiling at that. It shifted to a frown a heartbeat later, directed at Anders hovering in the doorway.

"A puppy," Bethany said, smiling at the abomination as she eased the mabari out of Isabella's hands.

With the fireplace at his back, Fenris had nowhere to retreat as Anders brushed by him, his gaze focused on what Bethany held.

"I've always been more of a cat person, myself. Though, she is cute." The mabari nipped at his finger when he tried to pet her. "Hey, watch it."

Fenris hid a smile. Seems the creature had some sense, young as she was.

"Oh, it's not even wet," Bethany said. "She's probably hungry."

"Mage…is not on the menu," he said, holding up his finger and examining it. When Isabella reached out to the mabari, the puppy nuzzled her hand. Anders threw her an exasperated look, then focused back on Bethany, his face going tender.

Fenris' sharp ears caught a soft sound from Danal, somewhere between a groan and a sigh. Dark eyes met his, followed by a shifting of his shoulders that might or might not be a shrug.

"Ale's on its way," Varric said from the doorway. "And the sausages, together with the usual." Fenris wondered what the usual was. Varric motioned to the puppy. "And something for our little guest."

"What did you order?" Isabella said. "Not that swill Corff claims is stew, did you?"

"Rivaini, you wound me."

"She's a growing girl, she needs-"

Fenris let their banter drift over his head. He'd never understood this need to fill up time with words that had no meaning. Though, Danarius had been exceptionally skilled in such pointless conversation. Most magisters were, or they didn't survive.

Norah arrived with another bar maid, both carrying trays laden with cups, pitchers of ale, meat pies, plates of sliced cheese, late summer fruit, small rounds of bread, and Isabella's sausages. With neat efficiency, they laid everything out on the dwarf's round oak table. While everyone settled themselves, Varric slipped each woman a few silver, then closed the door behind them.

Fenris settled next to Hawke. Bethany sat across from her brother, and Anders on her right. Unfortunately, that put the abomination directly across from Fenris, but at least the elf could keep an eye on him.

"Not the best the Hanged Man offers, but it won't strip the skin off your tongue," Hawke said, handing him a mug of ale and a smile. Isabella, sitting next to Bethany, smirked and slid a sausage into her mouth, her tongue licking off the juices as she eyed him the whole time. Fenris felt the tips of his ears burning, and scowled, his hand tightening on his mug. Then her eyes shifted to Hawke, and she winked. From the corner of his eye, Fenris was surprised to see a faint flush blossom under the curving tattoos on his cheeks. Then the man raised his mug in salute to her, before draining it in one pull. The sudden intake of alcohol deepened the rosy color on his cheeks.

"Dani!" Bethany said.

Danal threw her a grin. "What, I'm thirsty."

"At least eat something," she said, picking up one of the small meat pies off the plate in front of her and holding it out to him. The puppy wiggled out of her grasp and clambered onto the table, nosing the pies.

"Hey!" Anders said, grabbing up the plate before she could latch onto one.

Varric chuckled and pick up a plate holding skewers of grilled fish and passed it to Isabella who handed it off to Bethany.

"Here," Bethany said, sliding a piece of fish off a skewer, "this is much better for you."

The puppy yipped, then wagged her tail before devouring the morsel. Two skewers later, with a full belly, she snuggled on the mage's lap and fell asleep. By this time, everyone had nibbled at something. Fenris plucked up the last meat pie -his third- before the plates were set on a side table, and they settled down to the first round of Wicked Grace.

"Winner of the first hand buys the second round of pitchers," Danal said to Fenris. "After that…" He grinned. "Whoever's got coin left."

"Speaking of coin, what's the bet limit this time?" Isabella asked, studying her cards.

"One silver, tops," Varric said, tossing one into the wooden bowl in the center of the table. The rest, including Fenris, followed. The Rivaini rolled her eyes, while the dwarf rearranged the cards in his hand. "I've got expenses. And that last job didn't net a lot of profit."

"You sure your fence isn't doing a little skimming?"

Varric arched a brow at her. "Carla? She knows better." He grinned. "You could always wager your new toy."

She patted the jeweled dagger at her hip. "Oh, no, I earned this little bauble and I intend to keep it."

Danal chuckled, and glanced at Fenris. "Isabella does like shiny things."

"I like a lot of things, sweet cakes." Another silver joined the rest in the bowl. "Raise you one."

Danal grinned and matched it, as did the others. Isabella glanced down at her cards and her brow furrowed.

The dwarf rolled his eyes. "Oh, please, Rivaini, I know you're good for at least one more."

"Always," Isabella murmured. Fenris frowned at the cards in his hand. Did the woman have to infuse every comment and gesture with suggestive possibilities?

The pirate tossed another coin into the bowl. "Do you ever smile, sweet thing?"

Focused on the cards in his hand, it took Fenris a moment to realize she was addressing him.

"If the occasion merits it," he said, matching her bet, his eyes meeting hers. Danal chuckled. The silver coins clinked as he and Bethany both added to the pot. After a moment of scrutinizing his cards, Anders shrugged, then added his bet.

Isabella smiled over the tops of her cards at Hawke, leaning forward, and conveniently affording a generous view of her bosom.

"I call it. Now, show me what you've got."

The human grinned and laid his cards down revealing a pair and three of a kind. "Queens over towers."

"Bollocks," Isabella muttered, then laughed and laid her cards down, a pair of knights and a pair of three of coins.

Anders sighed and showed his hand, a pair of two of daggers that wouldn't beat anything except a random collection of cards. Bethany made a face at her brother, while Varric shook his head as he tossed his hand onto the draw pile.

Fenris glanced down at his cards, then, one at a time, laid them on the table.

"Holy shit, elf," Varric said, staring at the royal hand spread out before them.

Fernis smiled.

Danal laughed. "Figures, I finally get a decent hand and I still lose." He scooped up the bowl and handed it to the elf. "Looks like the second round's on you."

"So it would appear." Fenris retrieved his winnings from the bowl, stacking the coins next to his mug.

"Just don't get that swill Hawke buys," Isabella said.

Grinning, Danal picked up the scattered deck and started shuffling. "You maligning my tastes again?"

"Only in ale, sweet cakes," she said.

Fenris didn't miss the quick, shy look Bethany gave him after glancing at her brother. The elf focused on eating his meat pie, too aware of Danal, of his warmth and scent filling the air between them. He dealt with it by focusing on the game, and somewhere between the second and third round of ale, he found himself relaxing, even listening to the others' banter, though he made few comments. These people were so easy with one another, so easy with him. They'd seen him fight, seen these cursed markings flaring as he'd phased and torn through the demons Danarius had left behind, seen him rip the slaver's heart out of his chest. And they weren't afraid of him.

"Well, I'm tapped," Anders said, leaning back and stretching sometime after the third round of pitchers.

The puppy stirred on Bethany's lap, and she glanced at her brother. "I think I'll call it a night."

Anders pushed to his feet, smiling down at her. "I'll walk you home,"

"Thank you," she said, ducking her head and smiling in return.

Danal watched them leave, his chin propped on his hand, his cheeks a little flushed from drinking. He sighed softly, then picked up the pitcher and filled his cup halfway, then held out the pitcher, his dark eyes catching the elf's.

"Some left, if you're interested."

"Oh, he is," Isabella murmured.

"Rivaini." Fenris heard a warning in the dwarf's voice, but Isabella just leaned back, fingering the pommel of her new 'toy.' For the first time that night, she looked thoughtfully at the elf, rather than like she was trying to imagine what he looked like under the plain dark tunic and leggings.

Danal was still holding the pitcher. Fenris shrugged and held out his cup. The human emptied a swallow or two into it. After two pitchers of the stuff, it didn't taste half bad. Corff did have some fine ales, and from comments the elf had overheard, good whiskey and rum. But the man had no taste in wine.

"Well, I'm done in," the human said, stretching his arms over his head after setting the pitcher down, his fingers interlaced. Knuckles popped and he winced, then settled back to a semi-slump, his chin propped on his hand. He glanced at Varric.

"No, Hawke, you can't stay here."

"Did I ask?"

"It's in your eyes, sweet cakes," Isabella said.

The human grimaced. "Just don't fancy getting into a row with uncle about the new 'mouth to feed.' He'll blame me, even though the mabari's imprinted on Beth. Not that I want him grousing at her." He sighed. "Maker knows she's got enough to deal with in staying two steps ahead of the templars all the time."

"She's a smart girl. She'll be fine," Isabella said.

"I know, it's just…" Danal picked up a card from his last hand, flipping it over and over in his fingers. The prince of daggers flicked in and out of view. "Father trained her well, but all it takes is one little slip at the wrong time…or someone spilling what they know to the templars."

Fenris' eyes narrowed. "Your father…was a mage?"

Danal nodded. For a moment, Fenris considered that Danal's comment about templars might have been a subtle warning. But the man was looking at him too directly.

"Legally, he was an apostate. Only way he could have any kind of a life approaching normal. And if he hadn't escaped from the Gallows, I wouldn't be here. Or Beth or…." He looked away, but not before the elf caught a flicker of pain in his eyes. "…or Carver," he finished very softly.

"Why don't you head home, Hawke," Varric said with a gentleness that surprised Fenris. "Check back in a few days. I should have heard from some of my contacts by then."

Danal downed the rest of his drink, then pushed to his feet.

"I should probably retire as well," Fenris said, rising. Isabella quirked a brow, but said nothing.

The human rested a hand on his dagger as he turned to the elf. "I'll see you to the stairs to Hightown. Gangs are usually out roaming around this time. Less of a chance they'll attack two armed men traveling together." A grim smile touched his lips. "Though they'll more likely be fighting over the scraps of what used to be Sharp's territory."

Fenris could have pointed out that he had traveled the narrow, twisting alleys of Lowtown alone at night since he'd arrived in Kirkwall months ago. But he didn't. He enjoyed the human's company. Besides, it was only a casual stroll, not an invitation to share a bed.

The night air, thick with the dead seaweed smell of an outgoing tide washed over them as they exited the Hanged Man. Danal's nose wrinkled.

"Don't think I'll ever get used to that smell, but it's still better than pig shit."

"Not a smell I'm familiar with," Fenris remarked. For some reason, that earned him a chuckle from the human.

"I grew up on a farm near Lothering. All kinds of smells, bad and good. Every season has its own. Sometimes…sometimes I miss them, even the bad ones."

Shadows flickered behind the lanterns set in wall niches where Danal paused at a corner, scanning the alley entrance across the street. The dim light extended only a few feet into the narrow space, but enough to show no one hovered there. After they crossed the street, the human continued, his voice taking on the cadence of a poet.

"In the spring, there's the smell of rain damp earth when you break through winter's crust. Apple blossoms. The first rose." He smiled. "Then summer smells like honeysuckle or crushed blackberries on a hazy afternoon. Autumn…autumn is the sweet grass scent of hay put up for winter feed, apple pie cooling on the table, and a smokehouse hung with ham and bacon. Winter is clear and clean. The air smells like iron, sometimes, just before a snowfall. Every time I catch one of those scents, it reminds me of home, of what...we had to leave behind." His face went wistful then, maybe even a little sad. It was hard to discern his expression in the soft light of a half-moon through the haze of the foundry smoke that drifted out of the armory district. "Kirkwall smells like fish guts and tar, year round." He laughed, then. "Well, at least Lowtown does."

By this time, they'd reached the stairs leading to the 'better' sections of Kirkwall.

"Varric will probably have a lead on something in a few days. I'd welcome your help, if you're of a mind. Though I should warn you it will probably involve bandits or slavers."

Fenris' hand closed around his sword hilt and he smiled. "I think I can handle that. You'll find me at the mansion. I'm usually there." It's not as if he had many places to go to.

Danal nodded and wished him good night, before gliding away then melding into the shadows. He moved like one, too, soft and silent. Fenris lingered a moment, watching where he had disappeared, then slipped up the stairs.

Later, stretched out on his bed, a small lamp he'd salvaged from the debris in the receiving room burning on a side table, he considered his new situation. He had allies, companions even, if not friends. Work, if he wanted it; so there would be coin for food, armor and weapon repairs, when needed. Healing, too, as skilled as any Danarius had had access to. His thoughts strayed to Hawke, then. An unusual man. Fenris sensed a deep well of kindness under the flippant humor. And while the human had courage, he didn't rush blindly into battle. As for his other qualities…

Fenris rolled to his side, away from the lamp to gaze into the deep shadows on the other side of the small room. A man raised by a mage might also have less savory attributes. But a life of slavery, especially under Danarius' stringent authority had honed the elf's instincts about people to a fine edge. There were depths to Danal Hawke, hidden under the easy words that, unexpectedly, veered into poetry at times. He thought beyond the surface of things, an uncommon trait in the elf's experience, especially in a man who hired out his blade for a living.

The shadows shifted on the whitewashed wall, changing shape as a stray wisp of air drifting through the narrow opening in the window nudged the lamp flame first one way then another. Fenris rolled over and blew it out before pulling up the light blanket to his shoulders, thinking of the people who had accepted him so easily. He had a place to make his stand. As for what tomorrow might bring…well, tomorrow would come soon enough.


End file.
